daddy-o

I've decided to skip class today after Experiments in Drinking Many Boozes last night; I'm kind of wide-awake but I've got this headache and while I've enjoyed almost every movie very much the sheer mass of them is kind of congealing together in my mind and I'm having a harder time drawing intelligent revelations about each individual film when it comes time to write about them.  "This movie was good.  There was a lady.  She was sexful.  The man had a sharp haircut.  There was some buffoonery.  It is much like the reading because the reading was about the movie we watched." etc.Feeling guilty now, still thinking about making some coffee strong enough to chaperone me to class and dealing with it.  It's just watching a movie in an uncomfortable chair for an hour for christ's sake.  

Had fun last night; was social.  Need to be more social.  As I was driving downtown my heart got to beating so fast from being nervous about venturing on my own into public.  I think most of my nervousness comes from being convinced that any group in which the people already know each other will have no interest in me, will ignore me, and will hate me.  I probably feel this way because it's been my experience throughout my youth.  

Spent too much money on martinis.  

Saw some people, some cool people I like.  I like to be cool.  I like that they are cool and I like that I like them.

 

today at work

I was forced to decide the price of 1/4 lb. of yeast.  Not dry yeast, but the, it's not called "wet."  "Not-dry yeast."  It's like clay.  A clay of single-celled, budding organisms.  

I decided it was worth $1.50, and I can tell I'm going to spend too much time wondering whether or not it was a fair price for yeast.  The bakery does not usually sell yeast, so when I called R all "what the fuck" he told me to ask the lady what she thought was fair.  But the lady just stared dumbly at me, like, "you should know the price of the yeast."  And so I mumbled a

 few prices, questioningly, low, medium, and high, seeing whic

h one she seemed to favor.  She did not respond.  So I said, a dollar fifty?  

I also realized that the smell in the fridge that really bothers me is the smell of a large box of yeast, bricked in tight packages like the finest imported heroin.

I frosted the brownies we put in mixed four-packs for way too much

 money.  I was alone and bored and it's not a thing I'm "not supposed" to do but I probably wasn't supposed to do it, since the cake girls usually do.  My theme was "unconventional brownies" and I had varied success.  The Good were: peanut butter frosting, peanut bits, and reese's peanut butter cup bits; whipped chocolate frosting and coconut.  The Questionable were: strawberry frosting, strawberry goo, and chocolate chips (the strawberryness was an awesome concept that was just too gross and sweet); maple frosting and bacon bits.

I ended up with about six four-count packages of these brownies, and

 put them in the freezer.  I am somewhat apprehensive that someone will find them and freak out.  ... About the bacon.  Honestly it looks kind of like candy bits and the taste is so masked by the maple that it's just a salty chewy addition.  

After thinking about it for a second just now I've decided Russ's Market patrons are not prepared to deal with bacon on brownies.  I'll have to smuggle them out or destroy them somehow, hopefully nobody will even notice they exist.

YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU ARE MISSING PEOPLE.

This donut is a life goal for me, and I am not a big donut person.  I need to go... to Portland.

hotcha

I write weird shit when I'm drunk.  It needs to stop; I need to focus less on evacuation and more on cultivation.  Of the words.  It was actually helpful to me when my mind was more plant-oriented and less animal-oriented a couple months ago.  The animal is about reaction and instinct and frolicking in familiar territory, but the plant is a slow period of growth and bloom, absorption, static energy.  

Ha ha ha I don't even know what the fuck.

Caught "Wild at Heart" on an HD channel.  I have to be very brave to watch David Lynch films, they make me feel queer and nauseous.

  

something

Tonight I told a friend I've never met that thinking the world is magical makes you a burned-out acid head, but in truth I believe that the world is magical, just in a way that I can never tell anyone else about.  When I stop and feel it is entirely apparent, 

but in that way where I know

I might have become too absurd for my own liking.

In that I don't exactly

like myself,

except I do, 

"I do I do I do I do I do;"

look how clever I've become 

to maintain my skillful claw-clings to practicality;

to have achieved this balance

everything is balance is everything

my life is a slow process of 

perfection

whose definition liquefies

when I caress it

just so. 

fad

Going to start using canvas bags when I go grocery shopping.  I know it's not going to make any big sort of difference, and I tend to re-use my plastic bags as trash liners and what-have-you, but it's something I've been meaning to do and so I'm going to do it.

My next concern is to wean myself off of soda again.  Being a rum & coke drinker ("hell of a palate-cleansing beverage") does not help.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/07/23/la-plastic-bag-ban-dispos_n_114557.html

nights in white

Last night I executed the only plans with a friend I can remember making in the past six months or so (too shy/lazy to initiate actual plans with anyone now; this responsibility needs to be taken over for me).  Went to a strange bar in Omaha that's just like every other bar you've ever been to to see Alexis's Adam play in his first show (he did very nicely).  I didn't get very drunk but I got pretty drunk as the evening began its close with me doing pornographic doodles for Alexis and the bartender on the back of keno cards.  Then Alexis and John and I played Bejeweled on my iPhone in a booth while two indistinguishable screamy rock bands did their thing, and then I drew animals for John (dog, cat, horse, bunny, elephant, tiger) and broke a lot of crayons because I was scribbling so furiously in my drunkenness.  

So, I had a pretty good time as far as "going out to bars" goes.  I really usually don't enjoy going to bars at all because I don't see the fun in it, unless you're into cruising drunkenly for attention or sex or whatever.  I like to be able to talk to the people I'm with without screaming and gesturing; it is unbecoming.  I like to have activities I can do while I'm drunk, so I don't get bored.  I don't like being hit on or groped by creepies (even though if they stopped I'd probably feel sad and unattractive since creepies are the only people who ever hit on me).  

Driving home from Omaha there was a soft, persistent fog and every distant industrial building was lit up in a way that made me feel vibrations and whispers from dimensions where the architecture is full of contrast, color and shadow.  I imagined myself walking on a rocky ground among the buildings, knowing that for each one I entered I'd be greeted in an eternal sunny landscape as a long-lost princess, but it was all a fancy and I don't think I have near the mental concentration to make such magical lands appear in such terrestrial sites.  

I don't have to work today.  It's a miracle.   I don't know what I want to do but it involves eating, possibly chinese food.  

I've stopped thinking about getting tattooed (aka "the summer goal"), mostly because all the money I'd saved for it was lent out, but the idea is still lurking there sadly, sadly.  

What else is new.

I need to make coffee.  

    

a funny thing

When I was reading through the medical records of a client at work and thought "Oh look, that's the same psychiatrist I had at BryanLGH when I was 15."

It's fun to post photos of people looking into the camera here because when their eyes line up with the cat's it's like you're being extra-scrutinized.

dear everybody

Please never worry about behaving any way around me other than the way you feel.  I am tired of pretenses, they make me more uncomfortable than you acting like a total weird or nervous or curious or annoyed or etc.

It's just that every day I feel closer to believing the frantic no-eye-contact social interactions and the same phrases again and it makes me feel brittle and sour.  

This will make things easier. 

Kisses,

s.j.p.

squeezing today artlessly out of me

The "Watchmen" trailer gives me goosebumps every time, oh damn, I'm interested to see how they've cut it and stylized the story to fit into a reasonable film length.  This better make up for that horrible pile of stinking shit that was "V for Vendetta."  I wish Moore had endorsed this one, but seeing at the butcher-jobs his other works have undergone I don't blame him for trying to get away from the whole industry.  I just hope it doesn't start a fucking trendy craze like with batman and v where they sell shitty kids' action figures and hot topic and myspace and fuck right off. 

I need to get my book back from z, who probably hasn't even read it yet.  

Today was a day where lots of things could have gone wrong, and it felt like they were going to, but they didn't.  I am like all hormotional (hormone emotions are an unfortunate result of being a lady and tuned into the moon's gravity and involve just going fucking crazy for no reason; also sounds like "whore motion" which is much more fun), I was running late to class, out of coffee, forgot my cigarettes and phone, made it to class and signed in with enough time to go get coffee from the union, ended up in a long line while one poor girl worked the counter and girls who had been in line for ages getting up the counter going "Ummmm mmm hmmm" and not knowing what they wanted, but I made it back to class right after the film started and it was a good one (Employees' Entrance, with Warren William, who is awesome).  

Then I realized I'd forgotten my black pants for office work and had to run home right after class and change, but I made it to work on time.  I really, really love my job in the office; I just wish I could work there more often.  If I didn't work all weekend at the bakery, which is the bulk of my paycheck, I'd most probably quit.  Also my bakery bosses are so fucking kind and cool to me that I can't help but love them.  I'm going to have to quit when fall classes start though.    

After work I went and bought cat food, then went to Target and bought miscellaneous needs, including a new shower curtain liner that's not covered in orange mildew and these Garlic & Rosemary Potato Crisps that are amazing.  When I paid my card was declined at first because the money I transferred has apparently not gone through, but after I took off the $15 shampoo it worked!  Which is so much less embarrassing.  

Then I was driving home on sun valley and I saw a turtle flopping his way along the shoulder of the road, and I yelled "LITTLE TURTLE!" and whipped a u-turn.  I pulled into that awesome park by the lake where joggers apparently get robbed/raped a lot and canada geese nibble lazily and regard you with disdain.  I parked, went and found the turtle, who was all like "fuck you!" but I grabbed him by the shell and toted him to the lake, where I asked if he was going to be okay, and he was like "fuck you" again and then swam off.  

Christopher's mad at me I think because I keep replying snappishly which happens when someone picks a fight with me when the moon's egging me on.  

goodbye to the prettiest jewels

Saying goodbye to my 00g Anatometal Opal Gemmed Eyelets tomorrow.  The best X-mas present from Christopher ever; I'm so fucking sad to sell them but my ear-holes are too big for them now, and I am that hard-up for cash.  Well, I have $115 that's transferring from my PayPal to my bank account now, and the internet stranger girl who bought them will really love them I hope, and wear them more than I did.  I don't have an emoticon for this feeling but it's kind of a resigned smile.  

Goodbye, goodbye, we'll meet again in my size, someday ...

... 

.......  

   ...

.. 

    ...

      ..

 ...       .    

            .  

right hand of justice

A favorite hero.  ... The favorite hero?  Need to see new film.  Need need need.  Poor poor poor.  Bitch bitch bitch.

This girl is super cool.

getting out

Yesterday the landlord went through and put evil yellow flyers in everybody's door; they state that management has been recently aware of pets in the building and to either get rid of them immediately or risk eviction and being forced to pay for carpet replacement.  

So.

We don't know if they've seen/heard our cats or caught somebody else with a dog visiting (which happens pretty frequently, we hear them in the hallway) or if somebody told on us/them or what.  If they are after us, I don't know if they'll pursue further action.  We've had the cats here illegally since April 2007 without incident, so I guess we'd kind of let our guard down.  

All I know is: 

Fuck you, I'm sorry I didn't mean that, I mean it was in the lease I signed and I'm sorry, but I'm not giving up my cats I need them.  

I may have to move soon: Either we choose to break the lease (up in Dec.) and leave on our own, or they catch us with cats and evict us.  

OR

Nothing will happen and we'll move out in December to a cat-friendly place.

Right now I'm sitting tight, laying low, etc., kind of frozen without knowing what to do.  We'll probably stay and see if they confront us or anything.  

It sucks when your home of almost two years starts to feel like some sort of corporate jail.  I would be sad and not-sad to leave this place; I've actually been feeling like it's got a lot of bad energy built up and I would love a change of scenery (and a separate room, our loft layout means this place is just one big room).  I would miss terribly: the gulls and geese, the sliver of

the lake we can see from our balcony, the little area behind our building that floods when it rains, the neighbors who mind their own business, the high loft ceiling, the red wall, the one & a half bathrooms...

I've come to know myself as someone who gets comfortable and doesn't prefer change once I'm there, and I've got enough comfort left here to make me uneasy about it.  At the same time though, moving, especially to a nice place that's maybe not part of a complex, would be

 refreshing.  

Lately everything feels like I'm at the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, and every few hours or days somebody screams "CHAAANGE PLACES!" and I have to gather myself and rush into the next

 identity, struggling to make it fit before it's time to jostle and change again.  

pouf

this was all more whining and now it's gone because i feel better

friday friday friday

redwine vidyogames

silverblue smokestreams

loneliness, ridiculous

Philosophy of Logic

I somehow got a B+.

Not!  Fucking!  Bad!

not important

Today I read a comprehensive advisory article on how to dispose of a human body, and found it incredibly engaging.  I have not and will more than likely never commit murder, but as I was reading my breathing got heavy and I felt that heavy electric all-over feeling of wicked pleasure.  It is a feeling for which I practiced self-induction when I was younger, especially in 4th and 5th grade when I had an hour bus ride to school each day and thus spent long, long periods of time staring out at the rural countryside.  During these times I'd play a "game" I mentally called "Where would I hide?"  It consisted of assessing the ditches and forests and fields around the bus and deciding what location, if I were being pursued, would best conceal me.  Then there were the "long term" and "short term" categories.  I could stay in a large under-road drainpipe for a few hours, but could I camp out there and make it my home for several weeks?  If that small thicket of trees could sustain me shelter-wise, would it be too visible to a road and risk exposure?  

Anyway, with the enjoyment I have of being sneaky it's a wonder I didn't turn out a kleptomaniac; then again, I have a thick tartar of guilt buildup.  

Today a coworker might have asked me out (NOT INTERESTED).  We've been friendly so I don't want to make him feel awkward, but I also don't want to really hang out with him.  Why is it that so many younger coworkers think that, because you get along at work, you should chill all the time?  It's like being a freshman in college, where you make a million friends right away because you're all living in DORMS and you're FREE and it's just an atmosphere vibrating with excitement and openness.  Only not at all, that did not really correlate.  Awful, just awful.  

The only station the bus was ever tuned to was Froggy 98.  This is why I can still sing many of the top country songs of the '80s and '90s.  

I "steal" treat products from work when I get the notion, but it's stuff that would probably be thrown away anyway.  You know what I mean, wink wink, nudge nudge. 

I have secrets, I have so many that you don't know.     

Also I'm very drunk right now I think that's important. 

water and air

There is too much to write down, always.  Sometimes I get the itch and then sit and stare at this text-input mechanism  and stare and stare and then lose my nerve and close the window because the flotsam hasn't settled, the doves haven't roosted, the honey hasn't crystallized. 

Are any of these metaphors working for you?

Dandy is drinking my contact solution.  She is so cute but her paws are like little fuzzy cacti right now and I need to trim them as soon as she chills out for awhile.  

 

When I was 18 a freckle appeared on my right palm, on the "pad" I guess right below my index finger.  I do not know what freckles appearing on palms mean.  I spend too much time telling you that I do not know this or that, or what this or that means; I'll work on that.  It's just that I've still never found an answer, and nobody else I've ever known has a freckle on their palm (that I've noticed).   

I almost deleted whatever I whined about clothing yesterday but I decided not to because I wrote it, there it is.  There are all kinds of me and sometimes I am more true than other times, sometimes I am an exaggeration of the truth, sometimes I am the truth under an unfriendly lens, is this making any sense?  It's pre-nicotine and caffeine morning time again.  

business casual impaired

I'm going to bitch about clothes, sorry.  I have not had a cigarette or coffee yet today so it will be angry and may or may not make any sense.   

The last time I found myself in possession of new clothing was (fx: shimmery flashback screen) either this spring when Christopher's mom gave me a few of her old clothes from the '70s, or last Christmas when my mom bought me two nice shirts.  I literally cannot remember the last time I went shopping for myself, or spent money on clothes for myself.    

I have a total of about three or four shirts that would be appropriate for the businessplace, and most of them look shabby and worn.  I have two pairs of khakis, one all stained and torn from working food service and the other a mens' pair that are not only way too big but also on their way to the same state.  I have one pair of serviceable black pants that were all torn up by kitten claws.  

I never know what to wear.  Whenever I put on anything besides jeans and a t-shirt, I immediately feel like I'm in a costume of some sort, playing another person.  I like dressing in fun things, but whenever I put on a skirt or a low-cut shirt I can feel the fibers start seeping into my DNA and I am not who I was a moment ago.  I go out with friends or whatever and I enjoy myself, but the entire time my mind is occupied with the same thoughts over and over "How do these clothes look?  How do I look in these clothes?  How does my ass look?  Do I look like I am trying too hard?  Do I look like an oblivious fat girl who's trying to be trendy?"

I feel as though I'm drawing attention to myself by wearing certain things, which is selfish, and slutty.  

   

I can't afford new clothes.  I just, like, can't, and it is a frustrating situation.  I don't know what to wear to work because whenever I try to ask questions about things I get subtle non-answers, like "Oh, you know, whatever!  Just professional!"  And I don't know if the person really means that or if they will see what I wear and judge me, thinking I am not taking things seriously, or that I don't care.  

I am going to cry I need to stop this nonsense now.   

food food

I am not a big "eating during the day" person for some reason, but when it gets hot out like this eating before the sun starts to go down is difficult.  The thing is, though, I probably need to start having a snack or something since when I have to use mental functions in the afternoon they're often dulled in a way that has previously been helpful to me.  

Okay I'm boring myself.

STORMIN' LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER WOO.  

A strange thing is the girls on the "Girls Gone Wild" commercials have just recently started to look younger, to me, than say I am.  Because they are.  TERRIFYING.  

Don't you love Bette Davis?  She is too charming and exquisite to be human sometimes.  Today's movie for class was "Three On a Match."  She was the most minor of the titular "three" and I just wanted to see more.  I also really like her in "Now, Voyager."  I also hate that song about her eyes.    

how busy

is too busy?  Right now my body does not have an answer for this question, there are pros and cons still being weighed on divine scales, there are rogue winds not yet settled.  My entire life is a process of evening and smoothing and comparing; which came first, the Libra or the Girl?  

I do not have much time, but then again I do not have much time to sit and be overwhelmed by myself.  It is no small security to be given challenges and to teach yourself not how to do them, but that you can do them.  There is discomfort; there is looking like a retard.  There are toxic molds and filing systems and crippled sentences with no predicates and smiles and panic attacks and weariness that doesn't mean sleep is easy.  

I miss having friends.

It could be so much worse.  

i am a flower toucher

I touch flowers, stroke them and feel them now, mostly when nobody is looking, because it reminds me of working outside in them all day and being in a beat generation class and how peaceful feelings were welling up around me in a soft tide.  

Things are different, now, busy all the time.  I probably need to quit the bakery job but I'm going to try and stick it out for a little while longer.  The new job is confusing and different on many levels.  My new class - "Pre-Code Cinema" - is going to be so much fun but at the same time the professor is a hard-ass: one five-page paper per week and we're not allowed to miss one class without hurting our grades. 

"we're"

"our"

There are too many boys with beards in the class.  Yet we are in it together.  

I'm going to enjoy watching a dirty early-'30s film every day for five weeks.  Or am I.  If I am sporting finger-waves and dark lipstick next time you see me, you will know.  Or will you?  

DID YOU EVER JUST

I want a cigarette but I can't go smoke for awhile now maybe even until it gets dark because somebody just knocked politely on my door, twice, and when that happens I take stock of all the secrets I have piled in front of me and freeze like a rabbit who caught a whiff of foxmusk, and then a great many slabs of solid granite pound down between me and the door like those angryface death-traps in Super Mario Bros. and anyway then they went away and I'm hiding in my little rodent hole, quivering with nerve endings and horny on adrenaline.  

I just spent a few moments thinking about how, if someone were to break in here and kill me right now, I would hate to know that the last sentence I ever wrote had the word "horny" in it.  I am sorry. 

Is being a person of secrets also being a person of sadness?  Secrets have always licked me delicious, I ache to hear them, and tell them.  Not tell the secrets of others, though.  Those I lock tight away to savor the quiet masochism of keeping them.  

This week I went home to do laundry and found laying on the counter the old "Baby Books" my mom wrote for my brother and sister and me.  They are absolutely precious to me in the literal sense; my mom's swirly handwriting overflowing with kindness and love and optimism, along with little doodles for many of the entries.  Mine details such things as strange baby-habits I had (licking a corner of my pillowcase until it was sopping with saliva and feeling it with my fingers all night, what the fuck) and little columns of areas to work on to make me a well-adjusted human being (making eye contact with adults and not being afraid to talk to them).  

The entries have tapered off but she'll still write what's going on with us once every few years.  My brother and sister each have an entry from this June with a glowing review, but in mine under the same date there are just two bible verses about how god is all-powerful.  

Hey, mom, fuck you.  

No, not really.  I just wish she didn't view me as a total failure because I can't be a soldier of the Lord.  I say "can't" because it's not like a fucking choice or anything.  I guess my point is: she doesn't even know the half of it, and it guilts me something horrible sometimes.

 

neighbors

They invited us down for louisiana shrimp boil; we got shitfaced and had a great time.  Sometimes I just dig on people being unabashedly who they are, I dig on that honesty hard.  

velvet sea

Even after three years together, you can still have a surprising moment with someone.

Last night Christopher mentioned listening to Phish's "Wading in the Velvet Sea," and I mentioned liking that song too, and then out of nowhere we both broke out singing it in perfect harmony.  

My biggest time of Phish enjoyment was middle school, when I would steal my brother's copy of "Story of a Ghost" and, when he had kicked me off of the family computer for the night and I had nothing else to do, I would go into the dark laundry room with a portable CD player and sit on the warm dryer, listening to the album over and over, especially "Velvet Sea," until I would cry and feel my crippled little deep feelings about life and love.  

storms and death

Stirring dream part:

I'm in the backseat of a car, Christopher is there, so is the spunky little blonde supervisor girl from the store who I think is terribly cute, and someone else I don't know who is shadowy.  It's dark outside, on a street maybe with black glittering asphalt, and "it's coming!" everybody is saying, and I don't know what is, but then the tornado is approaching down the block and we all begin moaning and wailing as the force of it makes the car buoyant and start to spin and rock and we cling to each other and scream as it spins faster and the pressure all around is just terrible and the particles of us begin vibrating and at this moment

I am aware that "I am going to die, this is how it ends," and I'm on the verge of exploding but then I am absolutely serene, and I look at my fellow passengers and they're still screaming but making no sound, and I reach out and touch their faces and think "I have nothing to be sad about, I had a pretty good life," and then in an instant the scene melted away like a chalk drawing.

I am not scared of storms/tornadoes in real life, but I am scared of death.  I do not know what this means.

I'm thinking about getting my hair cut like Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby.  I don't know.  Will it make me look gross?  Am I too bottom-heavy

 to pull it off?  I need guidance.  Her hair is naturally curly and my hair is the least curly hair in existence, god.  We both have square jaws but her eyes are wide-set and doe-like and mine are not.  I think I just love her because she's the voice of the titular unicorn in The Last Unicorn which was my favorite movie when I was little and still is one of them today, jesus, such an enchanting voice.      

feeling just ace

I finished my second five-week summer class today, which means something important:  I will never in my life have to take another philosophy or math-related class.  I can feel those lobes of my brain atrophying already!  I think I did pretty okay on the final, but we'll see.  I got to kicking ass at proofs and luckily they make up most of the points on the tests so hopefully they'll sail my average ship to harbor.  

Am feeling as though working hard lately is influencing me most positively.  Mostly I have avoided it in the past because I'm too worried that work will eat away at my life and I'll be left empty and boring, like and ADULT HUMAN.  But this is a childish view, I think, since sitting around all the time turned me into such a waste.  Now I'm just hoping to accomplish enough so that I can be comfortable and lazy later.  

Ha ha ha who the fuck am I? 

Here, we need some tattoo babbling to make up for that straight-laced paragraph:

I am getting this Louis Wain cat here on the inside of my right ankle, as big as I can afford:

Except with her tail going down around my ankle bone, and I'm not sure what

 color - maybe nice shaded reddish-orange.  And also I the face will not look like that but like this:

God damn blogger has retarded formatting.  I'd rather just do html because I'm faster with it but it doesn't let me paste anything for some reason.  Anyway, I will have this tattoo soon, and then someday I'll have another cat from that same set facing away from the viewer on my other leg.  But now I'm going to do dishes, then go to Beatrice to do a mountain of laundry.  Aren't you happy to know that.

Got the job, mom.

Which is pretty good news considering I've been getting bad headaches and sinus congestion after working in the bakery.  I'm assuming it's toxic mold exposure.  I keep trying to clean but everything just gets dirty again, we're never staffed enough to get more than the bare minimum done and there are no official cleaning duties other than "sweep, mop, wipe tables."  

I am going to keep the job for now but at the end of summer no more please.  

Am very excited, though, since this is the first job where I actually won't have to dumb myself down around my coworkers.  WHAT.  I am nervous but it will be good.

tearing it up

Watching Animal Planet makes me cry.  Like, every time.  I don't know when exactly this started happening.  Is this part of becoming an adult?  My brother and sister and I used to give my mom hell for getting weepy at emotional parts of movies, like it was an embarrassing thing.  I'm sorry, Mom; my eyes just prickled over a commercial for a dog/owner reality show that toted out the same banal "truly man's best friend" lines.  It's okay, we are all allowed to cry.  I will get this job for you and make you proud.  I will try not to cry at the interview, like I did at mine for Bard College.  That's a story for another time.   

I don't know, man, I'm just trying to distract myself.  Luckily I think I've made myself so nervous going over every horrible stupid thing I could say or do that I'm kind of chill, now.

FULL BLOG CUSTOMIZATION GO!

I'm sorry if my blog looks like your browser vomited, I've always haphazardly bludgeoned my way through web design.  

Wait, who am I talking tooooo whom am I talking.

It's a Louis Wain drawing and the full version is bad as fuck and I would get it as a full back piece tattoo if like 1/4 of my back weren't already taken up.  

I will show you which Louis Wain tattoos I am going to get sometime when I haven't spent a couple hours customizing my blog instead of studying/preparing for interview, though.

Oh hell, my padding needs work.

soda secrets

I am currently holding on to three bottles of the original Mountain Dew "Pitch Black" in my closet in Beatrice.  Someday I am hoping the eBay nostalgia price will peak at several hundred dollars.  I know this Soda Investment Plan (SIP) does not sound very solid, but I'm fairly certain that I also have an old can of Surge locked in this old chest I had in middle school that disappeared sometime between then and now.  I think I moved it to the basement but after that I went to find it at some point and it was gone.  I've mounted several search missions for it since but nobody seems to remember that it existed except me.  

Theory 1: It is in the attic above the garage nobody ever gets into.

Theory 2: It was thrown away accidentally as junk.

Theory 3: A suspicious parent or sibling broke into it to get at the insides (it had a pretty sturdy lock) and had to destroy all of the evidence.  

Am watching Edward Scissorhands in HD wheeeee so fun so cute.  What happened, Burton and Depp?  OH FUCK how did I forget Vincent Price in this movie?!  It used to scare the fuck out of me but only the neighborhood people being cruel to Edward.  I think that's supposed to be the scariest part anyway.  Thank you for reading my brilliant film analysis blog.

humdrum

Got my hip tattoo touched up (FINALLY) last Wednesday and now it's itching like a motherfucker.  What a great experience, though; Nate at Iron Brush was so kind and being under a needle again was like floating.  Now I just want new work even more hard. 

Trying to find a workable "writing sample" for a job.  Is it a bad sign when I read my own academic writing and have trouble concentrating because it's too wordy and high-falutin'?  When I'm writing casually I can curse and be retarded so it helps, I think, but take that away and shit, goddamn, boring.  

I never mentioned this but the second butterfly isn't going to emerge. :(  He stayed in well past he should have and it's too late; I must just accept the loss.  I'm happy the other guy made it, though.  

happenings

I'm currently downloading a 3+GB torrent of a collection of Bela Fleck's work in order to be in possession of a single song I heard playing on NPR earlier ("Earl in Shanghai").  Please do not tell the authorities.

On July 1st I approached my car after class to find a bright orange parking ticked on the windshield.  "What the fuck," I said to myself, as I was parked quite legally.  It turns out that the ticket was for being retarded, since I'd failed to put the "June 2009" registration stickers (that had been in my purse for half a month) on my plates.  The ticket was for $100 USD.  After doing that enraged wailing where you're too pissed to cry the whole way home, I frantically researched ways to fight it, and found out the fine might be reduced if I bring proof of registration to the City Attorney's office.  So I went downtown, set off the metal detectors with my belt ("It's my first time here," I simpered to the lady cop.  "Good," she replied.), and found my way to the fourth floor where I sat politely among loud meth-head women until the attorney (?) called me in.  The date on the ticket was  September 1st, 2004 (in my rage I had not noticed this).  After I assured him I had not been sitting on the ticket for almost four years, he told me it would be dropped, and gave me a lecture on putting the damn stickers on your plates on time (I had a good "story" about how my parents in Beatrice own the car and hadn't given the stickers to me on time).  

I will forever wonder if the cop/parking enforcement officer actually made a horrendous mistake on the date, or if they did it in purpose to cut me a break.  THANK YOU KIND PETTY LAW ENFORCER.  

I have one week left in my "Philosophy of Logic" class, which has beat my mental ass raw.  I've been doing pretty average but I think it will be good enough.  It's been extremely helpful to have only had this class for five weeks, as it's much easier to apply the "just keep fucking trying" mantra that tends to die off about halfway through a regular semester.  

time

Sometimes during the course of daily life I get into the habit of counting the minutes and seconds I've either saved or wasted on certain mundane tasks.  If I forget to jiggle the toilet handle and have to return to the bathroom when I realize the water's been running for a few minutes, a mental block of "wasted time" is calculated, like a soft imaginary marshmallow, and safely stored.  If the door to my apartment complex isn't latched and I don't have to wrestle the correct key into the lock, a "saved time" marshmallow ploops into existence in my mind.  At these points thin branches of reality split off and ghosts of myself forge down the new veins, continuing my life as though I hadn't wasted or saved that small amount of time.  Sometimes she's five feet behind me walking at the same clip, sometimes she's smoking a cigarette on the porch when I'm jiggling the toilet handle and sighing, sighing.  

knowledge of mice

Remembered something interesting from tenure at plumbing store:

Whenever the guys went to snake a clogged line and they pulled back wads of feminine products (seriously, ladies, behave yourselves), the description on the ticket from which I would type the invoice would read "white mice."  

Use this knowledge to impress your plumber friends.

The other day Christopher and I were at PetCo buying litter for the kibs and we went to stare at the small animals and try and resist poking at them through the glass like retards and the mouse tank just had this wad of thumb-sized sleepers in the middle while two mavericks went fucking NUTS on the little wheel on either side.  At that moment I just wanted skirtful of them in a meadow running up and down my arms and legs and whiskering at my face.  Do not judge me.

a like or two

Small objects encased in glass for the purpose of knick-knack or decoration.  Especially: insects, whimsical nature figures, shiny bits.  

When I am bored and under the influence I like to research precious and semiprecious gemstones, and minerals.  Especially: Opal, ammolite, famous diamonds, silly "crystal powers"; etc. 

If you are likewise interested you may find The Smithsonian Gem & Mineral Collection quite titillating.  

A collection of over 1,000 "Picture Agates."  Those little pictures formed naturally in the rock.  They look like silky jelly candies and I want to eat them.