Saturday, April 30, 2011

An Ode to Kim

I felt this was needed.

Dear Kim,

As your unbiological-twin, my twin senses are tingling. I wish, more than anything, that I could come home and see you. I miss you. And I feel like the two of us have a lot to talk about. I feel like we're going through similar things and trying too hard to work through them on our own. But since I can't be there I just wanted to show you how much I love you... I thought I would do so through playlist. So get on youtube Kimmy and be prepared to listen to songs...

P.S. Start the song before you read. Promise?

5 years time - Noah and the Whale

I love this song. Because it's happy. It makes me smile, and I hope you smile. I miss seeing your smile. I miss hearing your laugh. Like how we laughed when we had an alien baby. Or how we laughed when you caught that grape in your mouth. Or how we laughed at awkward family photos.
Also, if you think about it. In five years, the two of us (hopefully) won't be poor college kids and we will be able to see each other more often. I promise. Hopefully I'll be able to come home for long periods of time and write from there... Then I could see you.
On top of all of that. All of the problems we have currently have will look silly. And if that's not enough... Well... At least we'll be onto a different set of problems. Hopefully those problems will be easier to overcome than these.

Folding Chair - Regina Spektor

I did a video where my friend steals her neighbor's baby and this song was so funny in the background because when it got to "and have a baby boy" it's a close up shot of the baby comming home from the hospital. I thought it was pretty funny. I laughed really hard.

But this song makes me think of when we're together. It's such a bubbly, happy song... And all because two people are sitting besideeachother in folding chairs. Sure. They talk about getting married and having a baby and all kinds of things like that... But we've talked about having babies... Maybe not the getting married part but definitly the babies. Adopted babies. Alien babies. Kimberlyn Jr. (ish) babies... Yeah.

Holding on - Alex Day (Nerimon On Youtube)

This song isn't here because it's happy and bouncy. It's here because once upon a time it used to mean a lot to me. It used to help me think about everything after the hard times. Everything good that was to come if I held on. You're not trapped or alone, you're
Also, I used to think Alex Day was super cute.
But I always saw the purpose. That if you hold on, keep moving... Everything will be fine.

Time to Pretend - MGMT

I love this song. Especially because it starts with a boiling sound... Which really confused Swenson's AP Lit class after our video on A Doll House, which I edited. Yep. I think it says exatly what you and I ignore every day of our lives. That we need to live and be happy cause we only have so much time. Sometime I forget and I work a little too hard, worry a little too much, cry a little too long.
But I feel like one day we could live on the edge, try new things and such... Without worries. Well... We can hope anyways.

Little Lion Man - Mumford and Sons

Mostly because they are my new favorite band... I love this song. I guess the reason it's on this list because it's a song, to me at least, about not taking yourself too seriously. Not getting too caught up in what's going on with your life. I do it. I remember when I had that fight after the 48 hour and all I wanted was to get home, get away. There was no way I could deal with it here. Which... Wasn't true. I could have... But I decided not to.

Anyways Kim...
I know this is not the best playlist you have ever seen. And I really didn't say anything inspiring... I just rambled a lot.
But I guess the main thing you need to know is that... Well, that I love you and that I will always be here for you, no matter what.
I think that, in another life, we were supposed to be sisters... Something like that. I know that even if we stopped talking we would always start off where we left off. But I would never do that. I don't want to stop talking to you.

I want to always be there for you... And I hope you'll be there for me.

I love you Kimmy.

- Berlyn

Your regurarly scheduled blog (on Incest!)

I've always felt like I was different. Not in a super hero way. Or in a more-important-than-everyone-else way... But in a way that most people would see as "not ideal".

Over my life time I have struggled through many different things. Now I have an entire list of phobias. A list. You see? Not ideal.

No kid closes their eyes and wishes: I want to be afraid of outerspace when I get older.... If your kid is wishing for that... You should take them to a doctor. They probably need someone to talk to.

By "not ideal" I don't mean bad, I just mean, 99% of people would not jump at the oppertunity to trade me all of my phobias for their one phobia of heights. Or of death. Or of spiders. Or of losing a loved one.
To me, one phobia sounds like a walk in the park. I remember when my biggest fear was spiders. Those were the good days. Cake.

However, everyone goes through a point in their lives where everything gets complicated. We change, we realize... We wake up.

Last night I had the pleasure of seeing a senior thesis film titled: "Incest! The musical!" Needless to say, it is one of the best film-student films I have ever seen. It exceeded my already high expectations. The music was great, the acting was great, the cinematography was great, everything. And it was incredibly inspiring.

Sure. At first, it doesn't sound like it.

But after thinking about it non-stop since I saw it last night I have to say that it made me think a lot about myself.

No. I'm not in love with my brother.

But I do have "not ideal" qualities and I would definitly list "in love with my twin sister/brother" as a "not ideal" quality. Wouldn't you?

The thing about Incest! The Musical is that the characters, by the end, don't care what everyone thinks. They're in love and they'll be together, no matter what it takes.

But that's hard. It's hard not to care what other people think. Because no one wants to be shunned from society.

No child closes their eyes and wishes for... Well you know the drill.

But it's not us, not the people with "not ideal" qualities, that should be conforming for others. It should be the people that think they are free of "not ideal" qualities. No body is free of them. Therefore nobody should think they are strange.

But still it's hard.

I've started to talk about mine in a more conversational manner. Meaning that if someone wants me to do something and I don't want to because I'm freaked out. I'll tell them I don't want to do it.

Example: "Berlyn we're telling ghost storys in Jon and Austins room and it's totally dark in here"
"... Guys I'm tired and afraid of the dark... I don't think this is a good idea."

I'm not trying to say this is how you should go about it. I'm not trying to coach anyone on anything. But if I have learned anything from Incest! it's that being yourself is the most important thing. It doesn't matter what everyone thinks. You love your twin, so screw everyone else, you'll love your twin.

So... If I'm afraid of space, the dark, spiders, abandonment, messiness... Or if I think I have a million different diseases when I really just have allergies... Or if I feel like just giving up sometimes... That's because that's me. That's who I am. I have other qualities that are more likeable... Like I'm funny, talkative, friendly, artistic, a hard worker, smart, ambitious. But those are mixed about other qualities.

Which is why I like who I am. I'm not perfect. I'm me. No one can be me.


P.S. I'm sorry if this was all over the place... They typically are. Just another quality of mine.

P.P.S. Follow Incest! The Musical on Facebook :) You can also buy their music on Itunes! Dooo it :) It's so good. And, you never know, it may be coming to a town near you :)

Saturday, April 16, 2011


Yesterday I fell off my bike.

I was riding to an interview at Victoria's Secret, I was in riding through the university next to my apartment, I took a sharp turn around a corner, hit a curb and faceplanted into the grass.


There's a lot of things you think about when you fall. For example, some of the first things I thought about were:
Did anyone see me?
What if I end up on failblog?
And, Did I get a grass stain on my interview clothes?

You see, I saw the crash coming, I had almost enough time to plan out my landing (almost). So when I sat up I pretty much called myself a retard and checked to see if anyone had seen.
Yes, of course someone had seen.
But he wasn't thinking about all the things that I thought about. He was worried about things like catching me on tape or if I had stained my clothes. Nope. He asked if I was alright and then said:

"Well. At least you landed on grass."

How insightful of you random CSUN student.

How many times have you fell (metaphorically and physically) and thought "well, at least I fell on grass?"

I rode through that parking lot on my way back from the interview and I realized that I landed on one of the only grassy spots in that area. If I had turned earlier I would have beefed it on pavement, bark, or gravel. But, I fell in the grass.

So this got me to thinking. There are three ways you can react from falling (metaphorically and physically): 1, you pretend like it didn't happen and move on, 2, you think about all the things that could have happened, or 3, you think about how lucky you were to have fallen the way you did.
Why is it that most of us choose the first one every time?
Why do we have to wait for our parents, or friends, or doctors, or random CSUN students to tell us that we were lucky and that a million other things could have happened?

After the CSUN student walked by, I realized a slight throbbing in my right arm... Probably because when people fall our first reaction is to throw out our hands. So I got to thinking. What were the worst things that could happen?

I could have broken my arm...
I could have hit pavement and busted open my head (I wasn't wearing a helmet)...
I could have done this, I could have done that...

But. I fell on grass. And now, instead of being hurt badly, I'm just really sore.

So. I've been thinking. This incident is a lot like everyday life.
Think about all the hard things you have gone through in your life and landed on grass at the end. I've gone through many emotional trials in my life, but when I think back... I can honestly say I've landed on grass every time. Sure, at the time if feels like your scraping against pavement, but when it's all passed and you look back and think: I got through that... Or, I landed on grass.

What if we had that mentality evertime something went horribly ary in our lives?

We fight with a friend, we fight with a family member, school's hard, life's hard, can't get a date, fighting with a boyfriend, etc.

What if, through all that stress, we stopped and thought: I'm going to land on grass.

I know. This is a common tool for stress addicts like me. When you freak out and have a panic attack, you're supposed to tell yourself that it will be alright. That everything will be alright.

But I have a hypothesis.

Think back to the one time that you had a bad fall (physically) and ended up alright. Did you land on grass? Carpet? A matress? A bush?
Then. Whenever you are having a hard time in life you can think back to that moment, when everything was alright. When you landed on, whatever you landed on.
I think maybe, it will help get us on our feet a little quicker, because it was a real-life event where you walked away just fine, embarrassed, but fine. It's alot easier to look back at that then to tell yourself you will be "alright" but you have no example of what "alright" really is.

That's just what I think though.

I hope that one day, when I'm freaking out, I can tell myself: "Don't worry you'll land on the grass" and actually calm down. Think about the people that are there for me, waiting to help me up from my not-so-terrible fall, think about how they love me, and how I'm lucky. Not because a god allowed me to be so, but because I worked hard and found the right people to place in my life, and that those people organically love me and would not let me go.

Just a simple thought.

- Berlyn

P.S. Sorry it's short and a bit of a ramble. I was debating on wether or not I wanted to write one this week because I am tired, bent out of shape (literally, I hurt everywhere), and preoccupied. Axl's coming home for a short while and he's driving in tonight. So... I'd much rather be busying myself with getting the place looking nice for his arrival. Also, I've been writing for the past five days and I'm a little fed up. I just want to watch some televison and sleep frankly.
Next time I will have a much better topic and it will be longer...

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Hello, character. Nice to meet you.

Hi. My name is Kimberly, and I'm addicted to character development.

Over the past several years I have come to realize just how attached to characters I get. This is the case in movies and books. I begin to identify with characters. I relate them to myself and to people I know. Sometimes characters don't even resemble anybody in my life, but I grow to care about characters after a while if I can watch them grow.

I am the perfectionist, detail-oriented, people-pleasing, stressed out Rory Gilmore.

I'm the cynical yet loving Tibby from The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

I'm the fierce, determined, but slightly awkward at times Ginny Weasley (not in the movies, though, just the books).

I have intense admiration for Callie from Grey's Anatomy, with her fearless badass attitude and strong personality.

An old close friend of mine greatly resembles Tully from Firefly Lane (the book I'm currently reading) and I find myself desperately wishing to talk to her and help her.

Tears were not uncommon for me while reading Prozac Nation because I just wanted to make everything better for Elizabeth.

Dang it, I even felt a bond with Tod from The Fox and The Hound.

The list goes on and on, but I just can't seem to separate myself from characters in anything. Their pain is my pain; their triumph is mine as well. If I don't make any connection with at least one character in a story, then I consider it to be a poorly developed one.

I've tried to figure out the reason behind this (because I HAVE to analyze everything, you know), and the most logical explanation I've come up with is that it must be because of how much I care about people. This is both a great strength and weakness for me. I know my future career will greatly revolve around helping people; I wouldn't feel complete if that was not the case. However, I have to realize that my intensity when it comes to caring about people may make life more difficult for me. Countless times I have been told that social work would burn me out. Honestly, it probably would. That doesn't mean I shouldn't do it, though. I'm slightly steering my goal to Human Services now...

Anyway, there is a definite downside to my intoxication with character development. Sometimes I start to view real life as if it were a story. It is, really, at least in a way. However, it's a story where I can't write all the parts. I can't throw the book of life across the room if I get frustrated with how it's headed. Well, I could... but that's called a mental breakdown, and I'm not too fond of those. People I'm acquainted with tend to upset me if they don't learn from their mistakes and lessons that are practically being thrown at them. It makes me want to shout, "YOU'D BE HAVING A REALIZATION BY NOW IF YOU WERE IN A NOVEL. OPEN YOUR EYES!" See, that's okay if you yell it to a fictional character on a page or TV screen. Not so much when it's to a living, breathing person who can actually hear you.

When I'm writing a story or a poem or whatever else, then there is always the possibility for me to make my character listen to me. I'm aware of how ridiculous that sounds... Of course I can get through to a person if I'm the one who created them. The thing is, I often don't feel like I've created them. Every character in every story I read, write, or watch has something in common with somebody I've come across. So I care about them. Deeply. When it's something I'm witnessing I want to help. When it's something I'm writing, then I suddenly CAN help. Oh, how I wish I could write things in to real life.

Maybe some people can do that, with just their spoken words. Me, I can't articulate most of my thoughts through speech. I just can't. My intentions can be of the highest quality and my determination to help can be solid, but when I speak I waiver. I end my most concrete thoughts with "I don't know," and my inability to hold eye contact makes my arguments and sentiments seem weaker. When I write, my words become fortified.

Almost all of the stories I've written have only been read by me. In my mind, the characters I've created are as real as flesh. They're just as real as you and I are. My dialogue can actually get through to the characters I create. The thing is, "my characters" are often heavily based upon people I know or have known in the past. Words I wish I had said can become real and have the effect I wish they had the opportunity to have. This is often why I talk aloud to the television, as well. I want to FIX EVERYTHING. I want to get to know everyone so I can be there for them. Hugging the women in the stories I read is not a foreign thought to me. And you know what, that's just powerful creation from the authors.

To every author, poet, songwriter, screenwriter, etcetera out in the world who has made me feel this way, you have done your job. You've done it well. But when I'm done reading a story, listening to a song, or watching a movie/television show, I'm not done with your characters. They become a piece of me. So maybe that's why I have such a huge heart for everyone. When I talk to people, I'm reminded of the characters in the book. And unlike "real" people, the people in books share their thoughts with me. I KNOW what they wish people would say or do. I want to be able to know that with the actual people in my life as well. I want to watch them grow in a positive way and I want to know I've done everything in my power to make them happy. It physically hurts me when I can't do this, both in real life and in my literary-based imagination.

I know that may make me insanely weird, but I refuse to be embarrassed by it. My name is Kimberly, and I'm addicted to character development in every shape and form.


Saturday, April 2, 2011


I'm going to start this blog off with a short story from my past:

I don't know if many of you know this but in high school I didn't have many boyfriends. In my entire life I have had two. I really wasn't interested in the first... I was young and just wanted to say I had a boyfriend.... The second, I moved in with and am still dating.

However. In between these two boyfriends my friends and I would make "singlism" cakes.

It was a way to make us feel better about being single.
It was a way to feel loved when we felt we weren't.
And yes.
It worked 99.9% of the time.

Because while we baked these cakes we were able to re-discover the pure love we had for eachother. The pure admiration, adoration, and fondness we had for eachother. We would sit and eat that cake while we watched movies and felt sorry for ourselves and sometimes cried.... But I don't have a single sad memory of these times. The times we made the cakes. I only remember laughter.

We don't make those cakes anymore because well. They were almost always baked at my house and I now have a boyfriend. So... The cakes have become a little obsolete. However, we still manage to bake everyonce in a while. Most of the time we make brownies and cakes for parties cause it's easier then buying a present (who doesn't like cake? AND you always have a funny story to tell with it. ALWAYS)....

SO... Back to the present.

Today is a party for a good friend of mine. She is turning eighteen years old and I'm super excited because (being as I now live in California) I don't get to go to many of my friends birthday parties.
So. Before the party I had planned to take my wife (.... Anna.... She is this adorable little girl who was a freshman when I was a senior.... I asked her to marry me and now we are "married"... She's in my phone as Wifey... This is legit stuff here) on a Seattle outing because I promised her I would. It's a tradition.

Hold on...

Sorry I had to rifle through my party bag from an eight-year-old's birthday party... For gum. I was still chewing on the piece from my Rain-Blow Pop (which, btw, is not as good as BLOW POPS... Just sayin) silly me...

Anyways. We made this plan to pick up my friend Kate from Seattle Pacific Lutheran University (Spu) and go to the erotic bakery (Only in Seattle) to buy an erotic cake for our friends party.

You see... We were joking about in front of the birthday girl and she got really excited so we decided to get her the cake. She told her mom. Her mom got all pumped and said she wasn't going to get cake because we were bringing a cake but... The cake we got was tiny (I mean one of the biggest cakes they had there.. But still small...)... So we decided to make another cake at a later date.

So..... Let me start at the Erotic bakery...

After screaming and yelling for about fifteen straight minutes as I drove around looking for this place (which we had found by accident the first time) and Kate yelled at the GPS (which wouldn't work) and Anna cried in the back (Just a normal car ride with Berlyn)........ We finally found the bakery. We parked and walked towards it. All wondering if we would get carded and Baby Anna would have to wait outside...
But they really could have cared less... They would let ten-year-old boys buy boob and vagina cakes.... But I would too... I would also give them a full BAG OF CONDOMS! * So... No judgement.
Anyways. We stood looking at the rotating cakes debating on how much we wanted to spend on this cake. We ended up getting the biggest cake with the penis of our choosing (I think we were suppose to get a black one... But we got a tan one instead.....) and told the man excitedly to retrieve it.
He responded:
Those are big enough to write on... I could write something like "happy birthday, now blow".
He listed a few more but we decided we liked:
"You can have your cake and eat him too"
So that is written on the cake.
As we payed.... The man returned and asked:
"Now the real question is.... Would you like Cum?"

You can guess how we responded.

So. We had cake one. And it now sits comfortably in one of the many fridges at my house (I sound like a hillbilly...). I wrapped it up all nice and stuff.

Last night I had Kate and my other friend Katie over. Now bear in mind. We HAD to make this cake. The other one was not big enough to feed a party of 30 people.
Kate will deny this but... I WANTED TO MAKE THE RECTANGLE CAKE PER USUAL.... She wanted hearts.
I started cooking. Katie made the frosting (by hand, pretty cool). Kate sat with my injured dog.

By the end of the night. This cake looked terrible. It was three layers tall of broken hearts and slowling falling apart. AND.... We didn't have enough frosting....
So.... As we started pouring the frosting on the cake we began panicking. It was falling apart even more.
I was hyperventalating. Katie had given up entirly. And Kate was trying to save the cake.

This cake looked god-awful by the time we put it in the fridge. God awful. But we decided to give it to them anyways... I mean... It tastes good.

Today... I got up early. Went to my sister's horseback riding (she's so talented :) I love her so) and froze to death while wanting to punch my mom in the face for being on the phone with my aunt THE WHOLE LESSON... Urg pet peeve.

Then I went to a birthday party at a gymnastics place... My littler sister was invited but the horse-back-riding one joined in on the fun too. This was a group of eight-year-olds and younger.
I felt incredibly out of place and cold...
But... Then I was offered pizza. And met a ten year old who could make balloon animals! (Where was he when I was ten? Seriously).
I was offered a cupcake but I resisted as I sucked on my blow-pop and rocked in my chair.

Children stared at me.
I was distracting.
And yes.
I did get a goody bag :)

Then we came home and I showed my mom the cake I made last night.
I wrote on it in icing.

"Cake? Happy B-Day. Love U"

True poetry. I am a writer you know...

OH! And I poured sprinkles on it.

It still looks like shit. But... Hey. It will definitly shock, horrify, and send people into fits of laughter.
But isn't that the goal of most of my work? Lets review.

Halloween film: BOOBS, Boobs, and naked blonde girls.
Visual Design project: Creepy Julie's stealing babies.
48-hour film: A murderer and another murderer who is also a necropheliac compete over an alleyway and a girl and are eventually joined by family-man/killer Sam.

Yes. I think this is a re-occuring theme for me.

Anyways. I'm going to go get read for this party ordeal... I need to write a card and make the cakes look presentable and then drive off in my Honda with a trunk-full of tires.
.... That's a story for another blog...


P.S. I think I should do a vlog of this entire blog in a british accent... Yes?
P.P.S. Happy Birthday Elisa. This one's for you :)

* The bag of condoms joke has to do with the fact that when I went to the clinic the other day... The lady asked me if I wanted a few condoms. Normally I would have responded: Naw, I'm good thanks. But this time I responded: Oh! Yes! Thank you! Nearly forgot.
I figured she'd pull out a jar and let me pick three or four... You know like lollies.
Wrong. She filled this paper bag to the brim with condoms.... And I'm sitting there like: What the hell am I supposed to do with all of these condoms? So... Now I have a gigantor bag of condoms and no idea what to do with all of them (I know. Half of you are like: Have sex. DUR. Well smarty pants I can have sex if my boyfriend lives in another state.... Besides who uses that many condoms that quickly?).... So I'm trying to make joke about them. I'm failing. But I think I have a new script idea.