The Hipster Brigade
if i was myself all the time, i would end up marrying my record collection.
when all three toilets in your house stop working, you become really good friends with the guy who owns the gas station two blocks away.
it's all greek to me
it's funny how many times you run across someone's last name when you are "involved" with them. it happened with the fox and now it's happening with the alpha. also, i now have to live with "silence is golden" for the rest of my life. thankyouverymuch.
p.s. my mom bought me an "Ian's Pizza" as a joke. har har.
lost but not forgotten
today i was rediscovering lost cds. i never really lost them but more overlooked -- a cd case more of a holding device than a display case. i guess it says it all right there how i tried so hard, from Ryan Adams to Zebrahead right on through to Various Artists. i spent a lot of my life trying to find myself through lyrics. poetry. prose. something to hold myself together. when i didn't find it in angsty alternative, i gave it up for light brit. pop boy bands, then it was ska that made me happy. in college, i fought The Man
by "being" punk or so i thought. i think i was more confused than anything. there was no way a shirt with a safety pin through it, plaid pants and converse chuck taylors were going to make me something i wasn't. it took a beulah concert, makeoutclub and a copper press magazine to turn me to indie rock music, if that's even what we're still calling it these days. i was pretty lost myself trying to discover or uncover by musical genre. it never did take. i never
was what i wanted to be. i think i am now though. and i happily listen to everything i did before minus all the gawdy fashion.
slow dance and fast dance and clap clap clap our hands
if i had a prom, i would call it the fiasco ball. there would be disasters lurking around every corner. i would have smoke bombs lining the dance floor. police lights would hang from the ceiling and i'm pretty sure The Faint's "Take Me to the Hospital" would be the
night's song. there would be a crowning of mister and miss fiasco and they would dance to "The Safety Dance" while fireworks shot around them. and instead of an ice sculpture there would be a fire one, which would be found right in the center of the flaky dessert table -- nothing strange about flaky pastries, i just like them. i suppose they could be frosted with sad faces or something. obviously, the last dance of the night would be to the twist. sigh. who doesn't love a nice disaster?
i never had a prom but a girl can daydream, right? actually, i still want to go if you'll take me.
i miss being in (here) for the company. i guess fate protects you from yourself. i only see the signs where none should be and i overlook the ones that are telling me this isn't right.
fake pancakes with julie at my feet in the back yard. her tail slightly grazing my toes. this was the happiest moment of being at home.
i miss my tree.
my hair is growing out and i look like one of those "faggy" looking boys from moc or lnc or mrh or something. this is more than i have asked for. i quite like looking like not myself.
emotional hangover aka (holden) myself
it doesn't really surprise me that i have more in common with a literary figure than with a human being. i really am put upon by this phony and depressing existence.
get me away from here, i'm dying
i think i’m at the one point in my life where i want to give it all up, rent a VW bus and drive around America. there’s nothing left for me here. there’s nothing to tie me down to any one place. i’m fed up in other words. i’ve had it. IT IS FINISHED. i am finished or at least i’m ready for some sort of finished -- polished. My only babies -- inked fingers, sparse words and a clumsy cd collection. i'm really dying for it all to make sense...again. i guess i've had it up to here and i'm really tired of all the guessing. i want to push fast forward and see what i'm living for -- what the future will be. i want to cheat because without the cause i'm afraid i won't make it. i suppose living for one is better than living for none.
Sometimes secrets are nice but I'm not very good at keeping them. I hold other's secrets with no problem, but mine aren't shy of escape. I'd much rather share what's going on than have something that I can't share with someone. I guess that's why I never had a secret crush, because I always hope the feelings are reciprocated.
I finally had that dream about you. I can't dream about someone unless they are missing for awhile. It lets my mind rest, so that I can conjure up some kind of mental image of them. I guess it's my self conscious letting me know that I miss you. I thought it was all gone -- the false love -- but there we were picking out rings. A geode rock to sum our relationship -- ugly on the outside and beautiful on the inside. We were looking for just the right one, looping the corners of the glass counter over and over. You didn’t mind you said, anything for me. We were holding hands and I remember always looking at your reflection in the glass and smiling. Then the dog barks and it’s shattered.
somebody i used to know
I've spent a lot of time forgetting, making room for new memories. I'm rediscovering the sense of home I've lost, and in some ways my sense of self. When you live faraway from your "home" you end up finding lost parts of yourself all over your house -- yearbooks, photo albums and last year's obsession tucked away in shelves and drawers. I'm not really sure what I'm trying to find, because all I'm doing is reliving the past through memories that are barely clinging. With each new scrap, a memory becomes alive and I relive that chain of events like yesterday but nothing is exactly the same the second time. Things are boring.
At home, life is boring because I lose my freedom. I'm twenty-one and I’m controlled. I'm policed by my mom -- every motion, every word. I've started reading as a way of escape. When I was little, I used to say that I never could read a book twice, and now I’m finding that books are always better the second or even the third time around. You notice things that you missed the first time. A passage begins to unfold your life in the words you wish you thought of. I mark every book I read with post-it notes in order to find the "important" passages again. It's all there for the next time I feel like reading it.
I hate writing in my books. I'm sure it’s my mother’s teaching being reinforced. It's funny, I'm trying so hard to let go of the past and to make some sort of future, but at the same time I can't let go of things I was taught when I was five. I guess there's no escaping -- physically but not mentally. It's all still waiting for the next time I visit.
there's a new cat hanging around our house, i named it Julie, after this guy
aka kenji sawada. oh yes, japanese pop culture.
i miss...everything. also, "...when i was in the circus in munich" but why the berlin circus poster?
sigh. i need more time to make sense.
endings are superb
i've spent two and a half hours working on something for you. something that i might not even give you when i'm done. it's not done yet, it may never be done. unlike us, which is most definately done. overcooked. burnt. in the trash. and then i remember i bought you that card and i thought when i bought it that it was made for only us. no one else really likes squirrels, right? i wish i had sent it on time, so it wouldn't be awkward sending you an "i love you" way too late. oh well. that's how i work. everything weeks late. postponed love. now it's gone and i still want you to have it. the card. at least. something to remind you that i cared. i guess you deserve that much.
when you first started making me happy, i wondered what would happen to my writing. i knew that my best stuff came out of misery. there's something to be said about being miserable. it's inspiring and you can look at the world and it's your enemy. everyone is your foe. you are my foe. i didn't stop writing when i had you, it was just less interesting. now that i don't have anyone again. it doesn't feel lonely, it just feels right. i'm just suited for a life for one. i'm fine with that, really. oh wait, is that sarcasm? i can't even tell these days when i'm being sincere. the counter-arguments don't seem to stop. for every reason i can think to still love you, i find another one that makes me hate you even more. i can't help it. i'm a pessimist. we both knew this.
it's morbid how comfortable i feel. i'm an emo-masochist.
there is no happy here
"All Americans should carry a box like you do." these are my words of encouragement as a i walk from beacon to boylston with a 20lb box. somehow that gave me the extra gusto to make it there without collapsing, but knowing that this was my second trip and i'm in for a third makes me hang my head low. third time is a charm and i'm out of breath and out of boston, just like that.
no snacks on board my flight, so i order the "veggie sandwich" at the airport deli. the deli worker speaks to me in spanish and says i look columbian or mexican. no, i'm japanese. she insists that i learn spanish. my "veggie sandwich" turns out to be a cheddar cheese sandwich with lettuce and tomato on a big roll -- no mayonaise, no mustard, plain and dry. it doesn't taste so bad. i burn my tongue on my tea and it's time to board my plane. the woman next to me takes a nap, and i sleep till atlanta.
in atlanta, i see a Crystal Burger. their thing are minature hamburgers that smell like burnt fish and taste like the sand you used to make fake patties with in kindergarten. there is a huge line and i know why i hate atlanta. it's raining so hard that it leaks in through the doors right next to where i sit on the floor watching two boys of varying ages eating pizza with their mother. they are dressed alike. their dad comes and joins them with a crystal burger. sigh. only one more hour then i'm home.
i read a book till i loosen my grip too tired to read. i sleep and once again i'm at the runway. then it happens, boom-boom-boom. i'm home, the dog is licking my face and i'm watching Hitler: The Rise of Evil.
why does this not feel like home?
props to kate
for my new mantra: Go watch other excellent movies and remember that ultimately, movies are much much cooler than boys.
did i really just say props?
i'm returning back to the cave today. back to the world of dial-up internet and part-time jobs at the library. i'm don't like where this is headed. someone told me to look for new things over the summer. open up my eyes to new experiences and people. they told me to go to church. i grumbled. i'm hesitant about anything that may be coming because i thought it looked pretty good about five days ago. the world in constant change. i'm not good with change. although, the jar of pennies seems to collect over time. i just know this time i won't be going blindly. i'm doing that far too often nowadays.
i think i'm going to miss it here. wherever here is.
beautiful words for an ugly person
"is that what you call a getaway? tell me what you got away with. cause i seen more spine in jellyfish. i seen more guts in eleven year old kids. have another drink and drive yourself home. i hope there's ice on all roads... and you can think of me when you forget your seatbelt.. and again when your head goes through the windshield...."
it doesn't matter how many sorry's you tell someone because they all seem hollow if you can't hear someone's voice and even then i refuse to believe them. i'm still lost up there. i'm still making up excuses for you because i want to believe. i want to believe that only nice people exist. that no one has shattered hearts, that pins are reserved for acupuncture not for the rape of someone whose heart was too big. that's what it feels like -- rape. i feel like i was tricked. that you got off on it. that you smiled when you told me, grabbing your cock, each one of my sobs, a grunt of satisfaction for you. in japan, businessmen break glass plates to rid themselves of stress, you break glass hearts to get yourself hard.
i think the sickest part of this ordeal is that you don't know what's off limits. i'm no longer cutie or hotstuff. you aren't allowed to comment on my "wonderful kisses." i don't know when we'll be able to talk again without me wanting to cry. i hear that comfort in your voice and it's still there. it still makes me feel all warm inside like popeye's buttery crisp biscuits oven fresh and ready to take home. i want to hate you but i can't. it's easier if i forget what you sound like. what you look like. what you say. what you said. all those things make you into a person and as much as i say i hate people, i can't hate you. i wish i could touch your skin again to find out that the blood running through your veins was cold. i don't want to feel this about someone that's so apathetic. i'm not really up for the excuses and i don't want to hear your part of the story. the parts i've heard are enough. if i painted a picture of you, it would be all in grey. neutral. if i painted a picture of me, i'd be flying -- heart on my sleeve, bruised but not broken. i'm still tender.
you're really something. (shit?). i might be miserable but sometimes i can't even cry thinking about you. i got more upset that my red chuck taylors were out of stock.
"...is that what you call tact.. you're as subtle as a brick in the small of my back... so let's end this call... and end this conversation..."
my cheeks are still moist from the results but who i was i kidding, i knew the answer before i took the quiz.
Which John Cusack Are You?
against all wills
.dedicated to daniel
there was a boy who stole my heart. a thief with more magic in his type than anyone else i knew. someone thoughtful, surprising and genuine in all his actions. i could trust him with my words, my looks and finally my heart. carefully, i placed it in his hands -- twice the size of mine. i knew there he would keep it safe and perhaps lock it in with his own. together two hearts pumpking faster than anyone's had before. he convinced me that there was love. that it wasn't just another sham. just thee words that have become so little to me. nothing. just three syllables. eight letters. dust. with each breath he danced those words. cautious at first, i was suspicious. surely, this will end but with each day there was just a little something more he would give me. just a bit more.
i began to crave him like a vampire needs blood. i needed his voice to comfort me to sleep. nothing was more comfortable his arm around me telling me everything will be okay and then believing him. the love in my heart falling easy like morning dew drops on freshly cut grass. i couldn't think of a better place to be that with him. each step becoming closer. each word meaning something new. each action bringing me some emotion. i wanted to share everything with him. i thought he was my happy.
i had found my happy before. it lies within me. he made it grow like the cherished Sami's new leafy branches. i was sure if you opened up my chest a light would flash out blindingly across the room. i was sure that if you opened my head there would be stars glistening. my ears full of cupids. it was more than a sick feeling in my stomach. it knocked me out then revived me one more time.
you never see these things coming.
on boylston street live two vespas -- a grey and black one and minty one that gives me shivers. these two vehicles make me smile every time i walk past them. each time my fingers grazing the leather seats or touching a rubber handle bar. i finger the license plate. it's smooth edges and raised numbers. and each day as a i walk past them i contemplate leaving a little note of thanks to the owner. "your vespa makes my day. let's go out for coffee sometime on me." i never do. i'm not sure why. i've had these thoughts for a long time. since last year. two whole school years, four semesters, about 14 months of contemplation but still no note.
then one day, like when Nino found out about the photobooth repairmen, i saw the driver. an average man no different that you or i. just some fellow with a minty green vespa joy ride. i wish i was him everyday.
i saw a pigeon commit suicide today. it dropped from the ledge. it just leaped right off the window. falling falling falling. then it landed on a ledge two stories down and i felt gyped. it was planned.
there's nothing worse than eating alone, except eating alone around a lot of other people eating alone. there's the silent army of slurping and munching -- must not sound like a cow stuck in mud. each bite is heard by everyone else. you can feel the eyes behind you. you are suddenly aware how you use your utensils, each move suspect to your silent eating partners. i envision the last supper might have been a little like this. those paintings are false, no one was merry or jolly or any of those christmas words. just a bunch of sad people eating quietly around each other.
all this for sugar cookies that weren't even there.
today at 12am i awoke to the phone. not really a surprise. i sleepily answered an exhausted hello.
"Is this Miss Reagan?" i perk up.
"This is the Boston Police." oh my god, what did i do? what did i do?
"Your mom called us. She's worried about you. Could you call her to tell her you are alright?"
and this was my run in with the police.
i can't sleep. i hear it nibbling away at the edges of my room. it's that thing living under my bed. it's a mouse. typically, i'm not scared of mice. i enjoy their company and we like to sing songs together, but this one i keep having horrid images of. i imagine myself lying in bed and suddenly if flies through the air (it has a tiny cape on and a little dagger) and GETS ME. i'm not sure why this mouse is different than the others. i think it has to do with being alone with any creature in the dark. i know i can't fight back, but i really don't want to share my last days here with it. i'm sure it's friendly but without the comfort of my two step sisters and my step mother, the situation seems a little less cheery. this mouse is no gus gus.
also, i'm fearful it will eat my converse.
the sad parts
sometimes i'm angry that i'm so angry. this morning i awoke to a phone call at about 12:30pm. fine. i hadn't slept but i wasn't really read to have a civil conversation. it's not that i'm trying to be rude, it's that i'm angry. i don't want to be awake. i realized i'm the meanest person in the world for a whole hour after i wake up from no sleep. then i'm fine, you know after the crying and the screaming and the panic attacks. the hot shower begins to kick in and it takes me about twenty minutes longer to do anything.
i have to get motivated to leave my room. i think i have seasonal depression. there's no light in here, my body still thinks it's winter. my bones ache. my soul craves attention. i hate it here. i hate my room. i just don't want to leave it. i like it enough to stay here all day. then when i go outside i don't want to come back because i know what will happen. i will get upset again. i'll just sit in front of a glaring screen and burn my eyes with AIM.
an empty stomach is hard to ignore but i seem to be really great at it. nikki served me half of her singaporian noodles (heaven) and i was okay. my nap was okay. then i woke up and i feel sick again. i really hate not sleeping. i really hate packing. let's just pretend this never happened.
i could really go for some indian food. would you care to join me?
note: i can't wait till i go home. i miss my dog.
i hate the sound of my telephone ringing. that shrill scream jackhammer to my inner ear. there's almost any sound more pleasant than my telephone going off like your next door neighbor's alarm clock at 5am when he's not there. it makes me cringe. my ears hurt from the popularity of my phone. are they calling for me? again? sigh. i can't deal with the frequent use of phones. sometimes i just scream fuck you in it's general direction but than the pang of guilt settles inside. i'm here, why can't i talk? sometimes i prefer silence to noise. to music. i need that break. my ears are ringing but my heart's okay. i just can't hear my heart over that deafening roar.
i haven't been to sleep tonight and now that i can finally make it to bed everything feels too soft or too hard or too hot. i can't close my eyes without you here. i miss (these) days, even though we just lost them. i'm sure i'm confusing things but life is like that. AND THEN WE DIE.
i spent hours on the phone tonight with sabrina. she breaks my mind. i like it though.
when dead things resurface should i smother them again? drown them in smoke and lies. i can't wait till things just stop making sense all together. i think maybe that already happened. i agree with sabrina -- my life is a comedy of errors -- except i can't tell it's funny till i'm already screwed.
i'm so tired of hearing no that the only yes i hear is from tens of states away. i really need that yes now. i'm glad i got it all out of the way. i can breath finally. i was smothering myself under all those indecisions. i made one and i like the turn out. two more weeks and i can act on how i feel about us and you. three simple words that don't really mean much except coming from you. before it was all a lie but now i think i've got it figured out -- at least, in that comedic sense.
*trips down stairs*
farewell and goodnight
sometimes i get that feeling that things are too full. that i feel something that i shouldn't -- something that makes me a bit guilty. something like holding hands and staring a little too long in the wrong direction. you're right nothing really is different. i'm not sure where i'm at. i can't see over the hill. i want to and maybe i'm trying to see the future for what i want instead of what it is.
i knew the first time that i saw him that there was something there. i remember trying so hard to be smooth and hoping that i would see him again. that ride on that subway meant something. i remembered everything he said. i remember those blue eyes like yesterday. they were bottomless -- ocean mixed with coal. so dark that something sinister had to be there. something was hiding behind those doorways. i wanted to be let in and i knew it was something different because he acted different. we talked right away. that first word: hey or hello or hi or something. i remember feeling ecstatic. some electricity moving down my fingertips hoping that i wouldn't mess it up. each step thought out. each thing written out. i'd done it before but nothing seemed to be working. certainly, we talked and we found something in common. i was his guide. i didn't have any idea what i was doing but i guess i would figure something out for him. i had plenty of chances to be familiar. it's distracting how many times i fail.
our first meeting again. i remember showing up early and he's still not there. and glancing at my watch and he's still not there. he apologizes and his sparkle and he's hair and his eyes are the parts that are alive. i like when he takes off his hat in the T because he reminds me of the artist i would find out that he is. it's funny how you find out how people are talented. you can't always find it in their eyes at first but then it seems so obvious that it was always there. he's left-handed -- i should have known. i should have known.
i remember him being interested in a disinterested way and how he likes to get things done. he's ambitious in the most laid back way. his spontaniety enlightening my own. i didn't have any but i could use some. i liked how we thought alike and that he was a lot smarter than i was, even though he was three years younger. he was a complete jerk but in a way that was so kind that it was hard to be mad. he would change his mind so often that i got lost. i didn't know which direction things were headed. he said no but at least he was nice about it. and it didn't just stop there. it kept happening. it's like when you are the amusement park and on the ferris wheel and seeing all those things in a new way. heights do that to me. they make me think because i hate them so much. but once i'm up there it's alright. i begin to understand and i think this is all going to end soon and how disappointing that will be. and just as i think we are coming to a stop, things keep turning. and that's how it was with us. we kept turning and things just kept getting better.
i liked being disinterested. i liked how he started conversations and that he always had some encouragement in himself for me. and that when i left up something sad he would read it and help me. in his way, somehow. how he cared. how he was so charming that really i couldn't like him. how he always paid and that i always felt bad about it. one night i wished i had made a move. one night lying in bed we touched hands and instead of 123...it was 123456789...and then let go, fade. and he would touch me "accidentally" and he would make me soup. i didn't do a thing but he didn't complain. and the bed was hot but he didn't say anything. and his face in mine and me leaning over him to use the light of the TV to light my watch. "that works." and me wishing i had never left. i had made that move. that it had been right.
i remember our first hug because we only had two and how i didn't know how to feel about it. i was just one of his girl friends. just another one. nothing special. then he was always a bit more careful about it. he didn't do it again and i felt sad about that. we always spent the night again together and i remember thinking that i didn't care about what anyone said anymore. i just wanted to be there with him. it was one of those nights where i didn't want it to end. but it did. like always.
it always ends and sometimes the endings leave me craving more so he must be doing something right. i always want more and each time he makes me want to write more. it doesn't matter what he does. what he wears. each night a new set of words. each night a new set of quotes that i wish i had written down. i wish i had gone with him. just for that last time. that last trip. that last adventure. i know it's not our last but sometimes things seem final.
pack, unpack, pack
did i tell you that i was okay? i had to make a special playlist or else i get so sad i stop functioning and just sit at the computer feeling empty and sad and that the whole room will close in on me. packing is the hardest thing in my life to do. i don't know why i bring so much stuff. i can't help it, i like clutter. they should make a special service of people that can help me pack. i can't stand it. i just can't. i have panic attacks just thinking about it, but it's need to get done.
i'm not lazy. i'm just too emotional.
i just decided this summer i'm going to try and be a better vegetarian. no more ramen and no more geletin. i found vegetarian ramen and i have swedish fish and i think some of the poptarts are vegetarian. i'll have to find out. i can do this. for the animinals. yes, i call them that. now and then. i can't help it.
i can't wait till i'm all settled down. NO MORE MOVING. i'll just own a bunch of houses all over where i intend of living. yeah, that sounds good.
Natalie Merchant; 10,000 Maniacs -- cried when her date ordered lamb. "I just couldn't believe I was involved with someone who could eat lamb."
can i take it back?
I'm not really quite sure how to start this off. I'm not sure what happened before -- bad timing or something but I never wanted to stop talking to you. If you still read my blog -- I don't know if you do or not -- but I still write about you and think of you. I've been wondering how you have been and would write a real letter to you if you had an address. I miss the sidekick deal. I miss telling you about my days and I miss hearing yours. I'm not sure what I'm looking for right now, perhaps just to know that you are well or a Grantism or something. I miss those. Is there way we can call a truce or something? I just want to hear from you again. I'm sorry.
the songs go by so fast in my heart. sometimes it's hard to make or become attached to someone or something. not with me. i become instantly attached to most things, probably to the point that if they leave i can't function for awhile because it becomes too lonely in there.
i feel empty even when i'm in love. is that right?
i like things that are filling. maybe i temporarily like to replace air with food but mostly i like that bit of hunger pang to know i'm alive and still feeling. "i like it sloppy and wierd." a bunny magnet once told me. maybe i do too. i like to live in a mess. i feel most at home surrounded by my clutter but not with a stranger's and it seems like everyone is a stranger nowadays.
i could really use a hand to hold. so i don't float away.
sometimes when it rains the commons get full of huge puddles that the ducks take to. i saw a two couples of ducks in one big puddle. apparantly, one of the males didn't like the other couple because he would squash his body up and turn into a duckie power steam engine and would charge at the other ducks, except his girl duck. every time they stepped one webbed toe inside the puddle, he was after them. nature works in wonderful ways. i wonder why he didn't like them? i wish i could ask animals questions. would i still be nice to "jerky" animals? hmmm...
i also saw two swans. they might be elegant but mallards will always be my favorite, well next to the white ducks. those white ducks are friendly.
note: i'd like a clean slate. i made some bad choices and the more i think of them during dinner the longer my life seems to be. i can't help but wonder what i did wrong. not wrong but i made some turns and i wonder about them now. i'm sure. i'm sure i'm a better person now. i'm still lonely. i just want to start over again. all over.
last night i was a lush. i wish conor oberst was my boyfriend so i wouldn't feel so lonely, but i bet that we would just feel lonely together and i think i could be happy like that. maybe not happy but content. at least he has nice hair and a guitar.
"Do you know of any B&W photo booths in the Boston area?" hmm...damn, he was supposed to know the answer to that. i'd been looking for a b&w booth for way too long -- over a year. then a search on google got me to the coolest site
ever made. and i was off to the Boston Children's Museum
. i found it over the bridge from the South Station T stop, located by a 40 foot milk bottle. you really can't miss it. it's charming. i love children's museums and the fee on friday's is only a dollar and when i asked about the photo booths the gentleman was courteous, dishing out quarters and telling me the museum was free for the rest of the night and i should take a look around.
the thing about the booth is that it doesn't give you any time to adjust yourself after you put in the money. you pop in your five quarters and it's off. so i look like the prints that Nino collected -- bad, with my eyes closed. my second try was much better. and after wandering through the madness that was the children's museum souvenir shop where all the kids were shopping like they had never shopped before -- each inquiring about the cost of things with their parents. i saw a lion stuffed animal that would have been a perfect Daniel, but i didn't feel comfortable with it. i knew there was a better lion. it gave me sad eyes when i put it away. it knew it had a chance and it had blown it.
then, i decided i would take a look around. i felt weird at first. then i saw it. the Recycle Store. bins and bins of knick knacks for collages and fun art projects. i suddenly wished i worked there. and that i had more than two dollars. the store is cheap but i wanted a mcdonald's milk shake -- i had decided. so off i went to explore. i saw the bubble area. the air area. the climbing walls. doll houses. the water tables. a construction zone. a RECREATION of Arthur's
neighborhood. i'm a big sucker for that cartoon. i really can't help the fact that all my favorite shows are on PBS and that i enjoy children's programming. i want to climb through the library and check out books and check out my own groceries, but i don't want to seem weird. i know the kids look at me at the bubble table. i don't care. bubbles have no age limits. wheeee...fun is fun, as justin would say.
i like fun.
some days i don't feel like writing in my blog, just because i know someone might read this and wonder what happened...where did she go?
i used to be in love with this boy in another state. he meant a lot to me and on the nights i think of him and his absense from my life now, i feel really empty. i know it was love, but i'm sure it's gone now. it's just a black hole left for some other sucker to stab into -- his love like vines, poking the me out and the him all the way and i lose myself all over again. i don't like love when it comes fast and sharp. what happened to the sneak attacks and midnight romps that love is supposed to be about? forget the sex. that's not what i'm after.
and there's a single rose on my desk. and a phone. a beaded necklaces and my tree and a purple piece of paper and a water bottle. and maybe these are all the things that matter to me. this is how i want to be a writer. alone in a room with plants and water and a phone, wait, maybe no phone. i want to be cut off. i wonder if i start feeling for you if i'll lose it. if you'll make me too happy and i'll lose what it's like to be miserable and not be able to write about it anymore. but that's what i thrive off. the miserable in me. i can't help it. if i'm not ever changing i'll become stuck and i'm afraid i'm already stuck in you. and i've already envisioned my life like rob gordon's but without all the break-ups. all the music and the lonliness and the feeling that maybe you are who i need and i'm not quite happy and i'm not quite sad, but i'm really comfortable and yeah, there are happy times but mostly it's just that it's there. you are there. and i like you. and i can't really imagine not liking you. not now. i'm glad you pretend with me over the phone. and we imagine what it will be like and that maybe i trust you too much and i'm sure my heart will be broken again. i like the sound of glass breaking.
and i like the days when i feel raw inside. where i'm too tired to even think about taking a shower. i just want to stay in bed all day -- waking up and closing my eyes over and over in repeat. and then i put on that alternative country record i have somewhere and i think about being drunk and broken love, and that i wish i was that lucky sometimes. they have inspiration!
i remember the nights when i feel really great and those are the days when i feel all nervous. the nights with ian. the days with ian. those are the days when i feel like maybe i can write for a lifetime and that i haven't lied myself into a major, a college. i like to lie. i'm bad at it but that's why i write "fiction" -- it's replacement lying for bad liars. you call it fiction because it's not a whole lie but it's really what you would be doing/saying if you had the courage to do it. i haven't written a "lie" in a long time. this is the closest to one that i've got.
i wish i could be in your arms right now but i don't know if that's even true anymore. i like to hide behind the ambiguity.
You live in a House.
You're married to ben gibbard.
You drive a vespa.
Your car is the color black.
You live in the state massachusetts.
Your honeymoon is tokyo.
Your occupation is a record store owner.
You have this many kids: 2 (2 male; 0 female).
watermelon italian ice and long lazy days in the commons. i'm not one to like sunny days but there's something about nice weather in boston. not to mention, i stumbled upon some new restaurants that i didn't knew existed. yay!
yesterday was an amazing and tiring day. there was of course, the packing. i was panicked and rushed about it. i really hate moving days. nikki
made sure to take care of me though. she watches my back. some days i don't know what i would do without her. it was also her birthday where she recieved some of the most beautiful flowers i've ever seen. so deserving so beautiful. her birthday dinner at bennigan's was amazing as well. at first, i felt awkward with all these people i didn't know, but nikki's the best hostess. she made sure everyone knew everyone and encouraged inter-mingling. her friends are much fun. i got tipsy off of irish coffee and chatted with a boy named alex that i had in a speech class. he has glasses. *swoon* either nikki's rubbed off on me or i've never realized how much i like people with glasses. my mom is the same way -- both of her boyfriend (dad included) had glasses. i think it's just pure conicidence, but ian wears them too. haha.
after leaving her for the walk home to 100, i smiled and said "good evenings" to strangers. it's amazing what the company of wonderful friends will do to your mood. i wish i could push repeat and play those days over and over again.
i'm so rarely genuinely happy! nikki makes me smile like no other.
last night i had a hit of the insomnia. something that warms my blood and keeps me awake till 6:10am, because honestly after that phone call i couldn't get to sleep. you were my hit. my herion. i spent the night flirting but when i finally snuggled up with my blankets, i thought about you. i thought about us. i thought about what will happen. how if i chose the vacation over the washer dryer combo if my life would change for the better? if suddenly i would be winning ryan adams contests, too and not just ted leo pieces of signed glossy papers. the washer dryer is convenient. it's safe. it's the one i want. the one i'm in love with and yeah, the vacation is fun and exciting. once you have spent your five days in Fiji, it's all over and all you have left to remember it are shitty photographs and a beer stein with Fiji and a backdrop of a mountain on it. you shouldn't go shopping when you're drunk next time.
i like the washer dryer. it comes in white and matches my house. it's comforting hum fills the room and makes me feel less lonely. i get a little excited just knowing i won it somehow. so everytime i open the lid and pour the detergent inside, i get a tingle in all the right places. i trace it with my fingers. it's cool heat racing on my tips sending it's rumble right through to my spine. and maybe it's not the brand name i would have chosen, but it still gets my juices flowing. it's trusy and practical and beautiful for a washer dryer, and i love that i made the right choice because the price was right. some things aren't worth the gamble anymore.
i knew something good would happen to me today, and i was sorta hoping it would be this thing.
Congratulations! You are one of the 2nd place winners for OUC's Ted Leo contest.
You will receive an Autographed Ted Leo poster, stickers, & pin.
Thanks for entering the contest.
yeah...my life is complete. MAN...this is so rad!!
FIVE BEST THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS PAST SCHOOL YEAR
4. February 15, 2003 Harvard Square T Station
3. Vietnamese food with Miss Nikki
FIVE WORST THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS PAST SCHOOL YEAR
5. the fall semester through first quarter of second semester
3. incomplete in british literature
2. student loans
1. ...lemme think on this...
FIVE PEOPLE YOU'RE THANKFUL FOR THIS PAST SCHOOL YEAR
FIVE PEOPLE YOU COULDN'T HAVE SURVIVED WITHOUT
THE BEST *CLASS* YOU'VE HAD THIS PAST SCHOOL YEAR:
Introduction to Magazine Writing
Intro. to British Literature
THE BEST *PROFESSOR* YOU'VE HAD THIS PAST SCHOOL YEAR:
British Literature Professor
THE BEST ASSIGNMENT/PAPER YOU'VE HAD THIS PAST SCHOOL YEAR:
2000 word article on vinyl
all those british literature responses
DID YOU GET HOUSING? WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO LIVE NEXT YEAR?
@ 132 room 406
NUMBER OF PEOPLE YOU'VE CRUSHED ON THIS PAST SCHOOL YEAR:
BEST BANDS/ARTISTS/ YOU'VE DISCOVERED THIS PAST YEAR
Hot Hot Heat, The Postal Service
THE ONE THING/PERSON THAT YOU LOVED AND HATED THE SAME TIME
my imood tells me that i normally feel sexy. it's a liar.
finding a boy is like shopping for fruit. sometimes when you go to the market, you find an apple that has a bit of a bruise on it and you take it home anyway because you had your mind set on apples. other times, you go to the market find the perfect apple and go home happy and never have to go back again. wait...it's not like that at all.
last night, i talked for an hour to the pinkerton security guard in my dorm. she is pretty wise and she listens to what i say. i really like her company and i couldn' t believe i was talking to her so long. i kept glowing and mentioning ian like i do right after we hang out because he's just a lot of fun. he's like the best toy under the christmas tree. i just can't have him for extended amounts. he's like the best toy i left at my aunt's house that i keep forgetting to bring home.
"i love reading your blog. you're so honest." well, i try. i don't know what i'm trying to hold back in here. i really wanted to write something about dan that wasn't straight forward. but it's all been done and now i'm starting to echo justin in here. sometimes when i read people's livejournals i want to write about my days. every second, minute, hour...but then i think my life is boring so i decide no. other times, i think of blog entries when i walk around but don't write them down and forget the wording. i don't spend time composing these. i don't write entries in my spare time -- hoarding them up for the appropriate time. i don't have themes. i'm not for entertainment. if it comes out that way than i suppose it's all an excellent accident. i just like writing and i think the best blogs show it.
ian once asked me about my website. haha...i told him that i couldn't tell him. and he said, "oh, it's like an online journal." hahahaha. yeah, and now he knows i write about him, which is true. i've offered wondered how ruined our friendship would be if i told him about it. i think maybe i would bore him with my hard-to-read template and ramblings but somehow i think that he would be flattered. he doesn't take compliments well. most boys don't. i try really hard to say whatever i am thinking. i want you to know if i'm feeling something. i'm the girl that compliments you on your best feature or that swell shirt you're wearing even if you are the stranger in the elevator standing as close to the other wall as possible. GERMS. heh.
i'm really glad that my mother doesn't know about this site because i would have to change the address.
i should be asleep right now
it's too early to be awake. i woke up to my alarm this morning only to find out that i was so tired i fell asleep with the lamp on by my bed. i remember turning it off. also, i woke up and my computer still had winamp going along and instead of it playing song 32 it had made it's way all the way to song 128 -- from the Ds to the Ss -- mind you, this is Justin's playlist and this is enough to hold off normal people. i suppose. the summer will be long and tiring and i'm pretty sure i'll retire to this playlist more than once.
i bought a carton of strawberries yesterday. there's something about eating strawberries that's sunny and nostalgic.
someone told me they loved me last night. not that they don't tell me every night we talk on the phone but instead of plain "i love you" it was a "i love you so much" and for me this made a reason because i was thinking the very same thing. the funny thing is that two small words could make such a big difference. it's sorta like "plain" m&ms versus peanut m&ms. i like plain myself but not in the i love you department.
i wonder when i'm sitting in this room with all this time if i'll learn something. i plan on doing a lot of reading and changing the layout and yeah. the strawberries at the bottom of the carton are always sour.
i think i may go back to a boring blogger template. everyone hates this new layout. no wait -- THAT'S ONLY JUSTIN!! hmm...i'm feeling lazy, he'll have to wait till i can find a suitable indie obnoxiously hard to read one. i kinda like this to tell you the truth. oh well.
i'm going to come up with a new comic: The Adventures of Sex Muffin and Fuck Cupcake. um yeah...i'm going to leave out the details.
hmmm...i'm DONE with everything. no more papers...yippee!! i am free!! now -- it's to the LB and then to the chamber of a thousand silent kisses. what? ok -- my bed. fine. my bed. no kisses. no chamber. just me and three blankets and two very flat shitty pillows. sorry.
if someone wants to help me design a site -- that would be sorta rad.
OH YEAH -- just in -- i got my third IM from MOC
today and he was actually cute and decent and is in a band
. (rise and shine -- they sing about robots and they are fun.) hmmm. oh well. he's fun to talk to so far. he didn't know who the postal service or ryan adams was. oh well. i'll refine him, don't you worry. yay! new people rock my world.
unlike other people who live in states faraway from mine whose mere mention of his name makes me want to DAI. yes, yes...him.
"where do you go when you're lonely? where do you go when you're blue?"
it's nights like these where i need to be held and be told, "it'll be alright, you can do it." i'm really tired and i don't know if i can put up with it much longer. i feel really alone. it's amazing how a research paper can make you feel so isolated or maybe that's just ryan doing his thang. i know if john were here he would make me laugh and just that ability alone would make me tear though this baby like no one has before. it's 2am and i don't feel like writing about animal rights or euthanisia. not to mention why do they call it that?
the act or practice of killing or permitting the death of hopelessly sick or injured individuals (as persons or domestic animals) in a relatively painless way for reasons of mercy.
the animals aren't sick! sometimes i hate people because we wouldn't have to do this and the animals wouldn't have to die for their careless acts. i'm sure there are tons of arguments against this but i'm not in the mood for an argument. i'm in a mood for a long nap and for the days to go backwards. just think that after this paper i'm done and i'm due for that nap. that long snuggle with D. i'm not sure what i'm going to do with my time after that. i think i want to curl up and never move. there's no one to say goodbye to anymore and i just feel too lazy.
why can't i get what i deserve? what's up with all my rhetorical questions, lately?
when did things get like this? i'm not miserable but surely i'm a match for eeyore in some respects. i adore the rain. black is my favorite color. i'm fucking emo. when did this all catch up with me? blame billy corgan, i suppose.
i want to start again. can i rewind time and just start out 21 and forget all the other things that happened? that's when things started to happen to me. things that were life changing. things that made me into the person i've always wanted to be. i'm still coping with the shock. i need to learn my voice and to stop thinking so damn much.
i'm starting to regret stuff and i swear that would never happen. i love how everything makes itself so neatly wrapped up in the end. how things fall into place and i've learned to observe and let things go. i'm still bitter -- but i suppose it's necessary.
have you ever wanted to take a nap so badly that it just wouldn't come? i cuddled up with my favorite blanket (D) and it just wasn't going to happen. i had the postal service playing softly in the background and nice happy thoughs swirling in my head -- but no sleep. so instead, i wrote this and thought about those two missed phone calls smiling knowing he had kept his promise.
boys that keep promises make my ears ring.
i'm not so sure anymore. i'm just not.
have you ever wanted to say goodbye but not know how to do it? i want to throw it out the window and shake hands and start all over again. "hi, yes...you are lovely." it's like listening to your favorite band/singer-songwriter and remembering, oh my -- they are good and how come i don't listen to this more often. it's that sort of feeling. that's what i would feel like if i did it. if i went through.
sometimes living your life in a lie is just safer and it makes you feel like a cloud. one of those cloud nines that you read so much about but are an enigma until you finally get there.
sometimes i ask myself if you are really listening with all the what's and huh's. i can tell you have a caring smile but there's something false behind those eyes but the piercing glare calms me down and i can't stay angry.
i want to be in your arms all the time. there's nothing like your arms telling me it's okay and knowing that -- yeah, you're right -- and i can stop the tears because i can hear the quiver in your voice. i hope i'm the one that makes you cry. is it too much to think that i can have that sort of power? that little bit of burn that makes me swallow up my pride whole. after awhile, all my words begin not to make sense and i don't really like explaining. i think it's a job left up to the reader to figure out what it all means and why should i have to make up stories, and even if i am does it matter? there is something to say about the form of writing as entertainment because we hold the world in our hands and i've stopped guessing and i've stopped looking and i've stopped. stopped for good and i don't know if i like that. i don't know what i trust anymore because once the world starts seeming too good i have to stop and start all over. i hate that.
i can't recognize being happy or else it will fade away. why is it that the moment i sit down and think about things and conclude that i'm finally happy that things start to go horribly wrong?
i'm sitting amongst shin high piles of papers. i can't think. i need to. i need a room. i need a life. things are closing in on me and after tomorrow, things will leave this mess and become more of an empty room. ryan will be taken down. no crooked smiles. no glaring. less guitar feedback. a serious lack of rockitude will be left. it'll just be me and sami -- a tree -- sharing two weeks of absolute boredom and perhaps more time to dedicate to writing and the perfect photobooth
it wasn't always like this. i used to be a lot more out of it. yeah, i've got that grasp and i don't like it. i liked when the rocks were covered and i kept falling as soon as i came up for air. now, i can't get back into the water without throwing myself off the cliff.