fit for an emo song

They've built apartment buildings on my youth. Where the Bay State movie theater use to stand, there are now apartment buildings and I was just crushed to no longer see the parking lot I used to hang out in with my friends following a good movie. Senior year of high school, where did you go?

This is a city of dead memories. Where's Chris Carraba when you need him to write an emo song? I'll even throw in a long haired girl in a summer dress with the wind blowing her hat away if it'll make the song more picturesque. I'm just not sure where I'll find said girl. I guess I'm just growing up and out of this fish bowl city but am too chicken shit to make that leap out. Le sigh indeed.

fragile and thin

I almost wished he would say I've been eating for you but that would make us more attached and dependent than ever. More than I want, more than I want to handle. For a week, I walked around the arctic east and each day, I sorely missed some boy on the sunny west coast that my heart ached. It ached not for him, but because of him. I don't want someone else to complete me, I don't want to believe that I'm not whole unless I'm with him. So for a week, I mourned what I was while entranced by big city lights. I have become dependent on him because I want someone to understand the inane trials I put myself through. Now I'm starving for affection and utterly angry that I don't know how to be whole on my own accords. But I'm working on that eating thing, so I'm not falling apart in all areas.

Now and then

NYC is gorgeous the way a Jackson Pollock painting is, full of color and chaos. And when I left, I realized how enamored I was by that city and can't wait to go back. But now I find myself back home in a place all too familiar yet foreign. It's always that same feeling when I come back that I can't pinpoint but it's as if I'm viewing everything through blurred lens. I recognize the outlines of the same buildings and peoples from before but they're all changed. But so it goes, and here I am to spend the next two and half week reverting back to a complete geek stage where I'll be reading comics, watching all the movies I haven't seen in theaters the past year and gaming my little heart out. Final Fantasy, how I have missed you.

Hello free time

All is done. Fall quarter ended about 24 hours ago for me and it's painful to watch everyone still struggle about because at this point, you kind of see resignation in their eyes. Some determination, but more so, that want for finals to just end. So I suppose it doesn't help that the moment I was done, I pranced. I freaking pranced and danced and twirled to show how happy I was.

But now I don't know what to do with my free time? Oh woe is me. How I am fortune's fool. Perhaps I'll catch a sunbeam or two before being whisked away to the arctic east. Temptations abound to just do nothing, but I now remember one temptation these past days as I sat huddled by my desk looking over obscure facts on German medicine and Prussian wars: how nice it would be to just chain smoke the hours away.

Instead I crocheted and did crossword puzzles to make me feel smart. Free time shouldn't exist. It should only happen when we're pressed for time because that's when all the fun starts.

And beyond?

Apparently, the UN is hiring a librarian for their Beirut sector, among other positions like secretarial jobs in Zimbabwe where knowledge of Portuguese is an advantage. That and they actually have a position entitled "Scientist." How ridiculously mindblowing is that?

But so it goes, I say. Which I've been saying a lot recently...in my head. People are leaving, people are staying, people are coming. My office boss is trying to convince me to stay for another year at UCSD. Here, I'll have a job, school to keep me busy, and housing to keep me sheltered. But come June, I'll make like a tree and getting the fuck out of here. I'm "over" the school thing, "over" the current job, and am looking forward to newer, scarier things where not all is so clearly set in stone.

But hey, so it goes.

Tonight I write, tomorrow I dance.

Randomosity

I would rather be fighting a giant scorpion with a shell of titanium with only a rusty spoon and a hairbruh for weapons, then have to write a film review or even make an attempt to write my history paper.

I would rather be holding out my hands to have my archenemy, the Green Power Ranger, give me paper cuts then write anything for my history class.

I would rather endure Britney Spears and Fed-Ex's mockery of a reality show "Chaotic" than have to sit this desk any longer.

I would rather do a combination of those above things: fight a scorpion while covered in papercuts and having in-ear pieces that play the audio track from Chaotic on repeat, then have to do homework right now.

It's been four or five months since I wrote an academic paper. Where in the world is my mind? I honestly don't know but I am sure that it's not in my head right now. It's probably off in Jamaica playing limbo with really hot and drunken college chicks, or something. So if anybody does see my useless brain, tell it to stay there. I don't need it. Without it, I am reduced to sleep and that's not something worth complaining about.

In recent news, I went to see Aerosmith for free. Was it worth it? Probably. The ride home was terrible as there was NO ONE whatsoever to direct traffic. So cars crammed into lanes and I just wanted to slash tires. Who the fuck tried to have four lanes merge into one via a corner turn? Ridiculous. Oh, but Steven Tyler was charismatic. I still wonder how his sperm produced Liv Tyler.

I think I'm also developing a taste for beer. I say that because I keep wishing I were at a pub, drinking the afternoon away. And if that isn't a sad outlook on life, I don't know what is. Perhaps if I were to sob into my beer and mutter, "Death, you are my bitch lover!"

I also still don't know what to with my life post-graduation. I'm beginning to think I should have a suggestion box. So please, email me with suggestions. As of June 2007, I will have a bachelor's degree in Sociology and a minor in history. I can also describe to you in full detail of all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Count 'em, SEVEN. Full detail. And if you're sick of me speaking in English, I'll talk to you in Spanish, Vietnamese, and by then, hopefully, Portuguese.

I miss Gang of Four. "Love will get you like a case of Anthrax, and that's something I don't want to catch."

Consolation

I've always been, and probably always will be, a passive-aggressive person. It's just now, at this hour, that I wonder if that's a damaging trait to have. And I'm also wondering how that's going to manifest itself.

I wish three day weekends occurred more frequently. Because I'm a selfish person. I want more time. 24 hours in a day just isn't suffice. I'm not asking for another hour or three. Just another moment. Just one more minute.

Christ, listening to Jeff Buckley at three in the morning is damning. That or damaging, I've yet to decide.

Mellon Collie and the Infinite...

I love tiptoe hugs because they make me feel like I'm trying to reach you. So I have to stand tall, as tall as possible that I might be on the level as you. Because some days, and some times, you just seem faraway. So I love hugs on tiptoes. And I love midday naps where I know the afternoon sun is on my face but the blanket is still wrapped around my legs like a chain to remind me to stay on earth instead of strange far off daydreams. Then there are the sad love songs that make me so happy because I hope that the writer was so incredibly and deeply in love that the loss was that devastating for him to write a song. He carved words from his melancholy and strung his sighs into a melody. And in his kindness, he chose to share his heartache with me.

But I don't love my words, not a bit, because I don't have much to share anymore.

What it is

Turn on the bright lights

December 11th until the 14th, I'll be in New York City and hoping the city won't swallow me whole, and even if it did, I don't think I'd mind.

December 14th until the 18th, I'll be flag burning in the Capitol. And by flag burning, I mean, well, wishing that Josiah Bartlett was running president because I'd vote for him in a heartbeat.

I'm so excited that I could just take a nap for 10 weeks until December rolls around but I have a feeling that my atrophied limps won't be able to support the walk from terminal to airport terminal.

Date with the night

Live music is absolutely beautiful. It's even better when the musicians are having a good time because you get to experience their happiness in an audio way. I went to see the Yeah Yeah Yeahs last week and Karen O is one crazy bitch on stage and deserves her title of FrontWoman. She exudes insanity and is backed up by insane guitar rifts and beats, so the proof is in the music.

And once more, this was another concert by myself. I'm starting to think all my cool friends are in Seattle, New York or Denver. And speaking of New York, I've been toying with the idea of moving to the City after graduation. So now I'm praying that I can find a job there (please, oh please let this Planned Parenthood internship work out so I can apply for a position at headquarters) and possibly a shanty apartment for a low monthly fee. But all the while, I'll probably starve to death to placate my concert-going desires.

If anything, I just need to master the art of panhandling. "Please, sir, won't you spare me a dime?"

100 years of solitude, or just a day

Living on campus is more lonely than I thought it would be. A sea of people and none to talk to. The irony. I am glad Di's around, even though she's off campus. And I'm glad Joanne and Di are my friends--why does this sound like a call for help or a third grade essay?--because I think I would go batshit crazy not being able to curse or say stupid, dirty things and get away with it. I'm surprised we put up with each other's shit as well, like that time they invited me to dinner but did a drive by watergun shooting instead by cornering me and aiming for my crotch. Bitches. But there was that time we lynched Jimmy, Di's teddy bear. And that time, we tricked Joanne into hiking in her flipflops and skirt. So I suppose, tit for tat, bitches. Tit for freaking tat.

I'm lonely because there's no one around. Literally. My roommates aren't home and all the friends that I do have on campus are RA's and they're out and about doing their RA things. And I'm not an RA so goodbye to my involvement in that.

I also went to dinner alone tonight. And as pathetic as that may sound, I didn't mind but it really made me miss Erin and Di, especially from sophomore year when we would go to Ventanas for lunch and then gossip. Twas the life. You would have thought that working for retail for a year and thus having lunch breaks by myself would have toughen me or built my apathy instead of having me reminisce. "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past?" Sure, why not, Gatsby. But here's to drinking to my death tonight after watching what will hopefully be a good terrible movie.

The Confused Dahlia

The Black Dahlia equals OMGWTFBBQ?!?!

I'm glad I went with seven other friends to see that movie because together, we were able to piece together the subplots of love triangles, revenge, and murders. And holy shit, let me tell you there were more subplots than the number of fingers on my hands.

Well, maybe if I were awake for certain portions of the film and paid attention to most of the film, I wouldn't be as confused. But seeing a movie after a practically 12 hour work day (where I technically clocked out after hour 9 but stayed to help because all my friends are RAs and thus weren't able to hang out) should have been fun. Just not so mindboggling.

Eric was right, we should have seen the Covenant aka the Craft meets boarding school and replaced with male characters.

Goodbye, halcyon days

Longest weekend ever, I swear. And it's only Friday night. It's move-in weekend for UCSD and I'm caught in the middle of petty drama, like the maintenance staff who have yet to install and build all the beds, parents demanding this and that, students who are adamant on their requests based on misinformation.

Is it Tuesday yet?

In other news, I went to two adult stores tonight. One was a well-lit porn shop complete with video rooms, one emitting a really loud audio of only a woman moaning. The other store was more LGBT friendly, except for the graphic penis pictures. All I have to say is, 15 inches? Sure, we call that photoshop.

Time of the season

Phantom Planet plus the Zombies equals one of the best concerts I've been too, sans from Coachella because you can't list a festival like that alongside these tours. Colin Bluntstone's voice was amazing as ever since the recording of these songs from forty years ago. I couldn't believe the man's vocal cords have withstand the test of time like they did and all of Rod Argent's keyboard solos were stellar. As for PP, I so called it when they played their new, dancier stuff and it's eerie that I could catch so many of the influences on their newer stuff. I blame the current music scene. At least, they're not trying to do any bee bop boop stuff. That'd be just weird, but I think Alex Greenwald has the perfect voice for pop songs, no offense.

So best concert of my life? Not so much as just freaking unbelievable. Now if only the Unicorns and Neutral Milk Hotel would reunite and tour. Life would be sweet as honey then. And if only I could find someone to go with me to these shows, that'd be even better. I'm kind of tired of going to shows by myself because I get so bored between set times. But I do go to more shows than I should because I believe that if a band comes along and you have the time, GO FOR IT! I mean, when else will you have the opportunity? I still regret, to this very moment, that I never got to see Elliott Smith in concert. Thus I have the following bands lined up:
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Minus the Bear
Something for Rockets
Rogue Wave
Saosin (because I'm crazy hardcore like that sometimes.)

P.S. I forgot to mention this but while at the concert, I've decided that I want to live and work in New York after graduation. Or some place that's new and scary. But then again, I make plans but hardly carry them out so yea for craziness!

Homecoming all over again

I am a terrible driver. But only with passengers. By myself, I'm fine and can multitask but once there's someone sitting besides me, I run redlights and break for no man or speed bump.

From now on, just call me Miss Daisy.

This will be our year

THE MOTHERFREAKING ZOMBIES ARE COMING TO SAN DIEGO AND THE THREE PEOPLE THAT SHOULD BE GOING WITH ME WILL BE IN LA.
Goddammit Ed and Justin. This is the Zombies. Only Justin would appreciate how effin' sweet it would be to see them. They are my Beatles. They are not THE Beatles, but I love the Zombies as much as the entire world loves the Beatles.

With or without my boys, I am going to see Rod and Colin sing about a summer at Beechwood Park.

stay away, not today

They can keep their stupid club because I follow in the footsteps of Groucho Marx: I wouldn't want to join any club that would have me as a member. My responsibilities, their duties, two seperate things, but same work space that I don't know where to draw the line. So how am I supposed to know when I'm invited to events when they don't tell me I am? Then it's feign this and faux that. I'm sick of assumptions. And I'm just as sick of their good intentions. They can keep that shit. I just want to do my hours and get the fuck out of there.

I can't sleep.

It's not even late. Okay, fine, it is. Sunrise is in two and a half hours and I'm up listening to the Amelie soundtrack in hopes of, I don't know, something. Like for it to keep me awake because jaunty piano pieces usually do the trick. And if I stay awake, maybe the night can continue and sunrise won't happen because my roommates officially move out as of Friday night. If Friday night doesn't come, they won't/can't move out, right? Right? Their moving out marks the end of our co-ed living and just a nudge closer to the school year. How did three years go by? I think I asked this same question right before my senior year of high school although I was probably more okay with graduating from high school because college was the next step. I mean, you go to college after high school. Step 23 of the American Dream. And in ten months, I move onto step 24, which is...?

I don't know. I really don't.

My world's changing a bit in three days. I know for sure I'll adjust. I think I need the change, keep myself on my toes or whatever analogy.

Happy Birthday Dad. Con khong biet con xe lam cai gi xong di hoc. Ma con xe tim ra. Ba, cho duoc khong?

What difference does it make?

You know when a friend tells you something about another friend and your initial response is: "Ewww, why did you tell me that??" Not cool is what I have to say about being put in a recent situation as such. And the something in question isn't dirty or gross, just peculiar and I still want to know why the information had to be shared. I guess, when one falls, we all have to fall. Or some pack mentality like that.

I know it's only August but I've been killing myself with thoughts about my last year of college before entering the "real world" and so far, I still don't know what I'm going to do. There are many things I'd like to do, but that's a hop, skip, and long jump away from what I can do. I mean, what are the chances of me being a mad rocket scientist by day and glam rock star by night? Nil. But let's move along to June 2007 when graduation will take place. At the moment, I don't want to walk across the stage to get my diploma. They mail that sucker to you, anyhow. Plus, Marshall College has this wonky notion of letting you walk across the stage with two other people as a nod to your last four, five years and how you could not make it without the assistance of others. Attached to the right and left hand aside, I'd rather not walk to avoid the sweltering June heat, the long assembly, and the trite speeches. Walking is a "sight to be seen" for the mom and pop's but what's the point if they're going to be on stage with you? Then again, maybe I will walk but I wonder if they'll let me walk with a cardboard cut out of Kelly Kapowski and Zack Morris. If not, then Brodie Bruce and Buffy Summers, at the least.

(mundane like the jones)

Born a son

Contrary to popular belief, I am a terrible daughter. And yes, I am admitting to it because I know the validity in it via a recent confirmation. So what to do, what do to?

(All apologies.)

love will tear us apart

My new cartilage piercing hurts and I want to do something drastic to my hair that will quite possibly leave me regretting my decision. We'll see. I took a trip to Santa Fe last week, and it was full of unbelievable incidents, like monster trucking down a 75 degree incline, eating burgers with green chile (that was a novelty in itself), and seeing the boy. So all things good and nice occurred and now I sit in my room, thinking about my current actions as well as some made many moons ago. I got rehired today at AE and I realize now that I don't want to go back to that place but the cash flow would be nice to fund a trip to Seattle, New York, Japan, and other places. I just have to remember to save it. But current situations aside, I think I'm living a big "I told you so" due to a statement I made in June: This isn't goodbye, just a see you later. I still hold by that statement because I've been seeing people that should have started their lives elsewhere, yet they're in my living room right now.

And come next June, I suppose that's what I'll be telling others. But that's oh so many months from now, and I should probably focus on how I haven't been to a good show in so long.

(Substance.)

My addiction to sad love songs with melancholy melodies will be the end of me. Since Monday, I've had different lyrics run though my head: They don't love you like I love you. You know I love you so. And I will love you over. Yada yada yada. I know I'm a sap but not to this degree. I blame my recent trip to Santa Fe for instilling this hyper-interest. But then again, I've always been a sucker for sad love songs that this renewed spark shouldn't be a surprise.

(see italized: O, Chris and Dylan.)

Golden slumbers so carry that weight

I watch bad movies and TV shows all day, critique current pop songs, and procrastinate on work. If only I could toss in skipping lectures and hating my long shifts at the Eagle, then it would sound like the school year. But alas, it's summer and I don't have those obligations considering I'm not in a place long enough to hold a job and I don't feel like taking summer school. But perhaps, in a week, my daily schedule will change as I'll be in New Mexico, where it is surprising 10 degrees cooler than LA. How is that possible? Aren't we all desert land? And how is it possible that I am sweating in places that shouldn't be sweating in this tragic high 90s temperature? Not cool. But two pieces of good news, at least I will get to see some silly boy while in Santa Fe and if anybody wants a souvenir, I would be more than happy to bring bag a small bag of dirt for them. It's New Mexico dirt, quite possibly an alien could have walked or spit on it. Secondly, I lied when I said that I had another piece of good news. That should teach you to trust me.

(One.)

I see a little silhouette of a man

I love the commercials for the drink Fanta. Something about girls in colorful, body tight clothes asking me if I "wanna Fanta" with them that intrigues me. I had no idea that Fanta had so many different flavors that I now want to collect all 75 bottle labels nor was I aware of how many countries it's sold in (at least 50!!!). I don't care so much about their taste but I just think it would be neat to collect them. I feel that this is a valid obsession if some people can collect stamps and belly lint.

Sunday night TV scheduling has a lot of "interesting programming." I'm currently watching a Discovery Channel documentary on the 2004 tsunami tragedy with my dad. This makes up for the fact that he watches Fox News and I still can't determine if he watches it for its absurdity value or for its terrible blitzkrieg, poor man's imitation of Larry King-style interviews. I just found myself suckered into watching a "God compels the devil out of you" type of informercial, to which I might continue watching out of sheer curiosity. And if I call now, I can receive my very own Miracle Holy Water. I'm not sure what good that will do for me, but it never hurts to have Holy Water in case a poltergiest might attack my house. And we all know how frequently that happens.

(Answers: The Byrds, Bob Dylan, or Peter, Paul and Mary. The hint was written with just the first two in mind and it wasn't until the other day that someone informed PPM covered "Mr. Tambourine Man." I would have awarded points nonetheless if PPM was given.

HINT: six part greatness, one part headbang, all worthy of Her Majesty)

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you

I love Pitchfork too much to hate them because the writers are so full of themselves and pull so many music references out of their sleeves that you wonder, "How does this even remotely tell me what this band sounds like?" I was reading about this band Tokyo Police Club and I had to reread the review:

"Opening with a Les Savy Fav riff tenderized to Strokes-level infectiousness, the vocals half-heartedly ape the Casablancas-via-intercom bit, though the pathos here comes across as much more dire."

It's like you have to be in on all of music's secrets to figure out that TPC is another garage band who doesn't add anything new to the music scene but they're polished enough to pull of a good toe-tapping song. Which I kinda of find sad, only because I'm over the post-punk scene ala the Strokes/Hives/et al. The stuff that's churned out by the bands post that era, which was sadly just two and a half years ago, seem to be hitting it late. And that makes me sad because I love music so much due it's ability to reinvent itself so quickly. I've always believe that music is a reaction to itself. Around the turn of the century, emo was a reaction to the boy bands and pop idols of the late 90s, which was a reaction to grunge, which was a reaction to the metal hair bands, and I could trace the chain for a few more decades.

New music is good music to my ears. Hence my appreciation for the Faint, Unicorns, Lightning Bolt, or the Decemberists. What they do is so distinct from any other band that even though I sometimes get annoyed the erratic and eccentric guitar playing of Lightning Bolt, I still find nuances in their songs that pleasantly surprise me the same way Colin Meloy of the Decemberists manage to glide over me with another well written verse. But for now, I will go in search of my beloved imports. How they cost me so much money yet I still shell out the cash for them. Although if somebody does find the Zombies' Odessey and Oracle album (the one with the wonderfully psychedelic Cream-like cover with the extra 17 tracks but is not the reissued edition) for a good deal, drop me a line. Or Arashi's Arashic album. I've been trying to hunt down a copy for the past week. Scratch that, I just found a page of 100 awesome music videos to watch which will feed my hipster ego.

(Double version, double points: Flock to the father of modern folk.)

the past and pending

I was wrong. I know why the fishbowl exists. And it's not just me that's confined to it. So stay in this garden so I can watch you grow.

(The game is still on: Oh, inverted world.)

We'll dress this city in flames

I spend my days reading the internet, clicking one link to reach another that I'm beginning to lose track of the days in a week and the time. And if it weren't for my inability to tell you what day it was, I would be counting them down with near glee. I want it to be August so bad that I'm looking forward to when school starts. For August marks my getaway from home. I want to say that being home isn't all that bad but I find myself falling into that same old hateful role. Maybe I'm running away from my responsibilities, maybe I'm being incredibly selfish but I don't want to play mediator anymore or force myself to think that I'm the glue bottle for this family. Because I'm not. It's some sick motto that's become a mantra, chanted over and over in my head because I've yet to accept it. It's not my fault that things are the way they are but once here, once home, I see the catalyst for future spars. It's so redundant as well, that I'm tired of the arguments. Starving for a change, what will it take?

So I dream of August, a beautiful escape away from all this. And I can turn a deaf ear until I get that phone call complete with tears and pleas. For now, I've only blind eyes because I don't want to see him hiding his concern with unexplained demands. It's his subtle way of love, which she can't see because she wants something more concrete. In years to come, maybe she'll understand but the frustration of today blurs everything.

(Another day of the week)

Another Innocent Girl

My sister is a whore. Okay, that's a little harsh. I think my sister COULD BE a whore. So we insinuate the second time around. This assumption arose from talking to her two minutes ago, I think she's on her third boyfriend since January. How the hell does she get around so much while I wallowed on one?

The other girl in the office may have a crush on my roommate. MAY HAVE. I think it's cute and sad at the same time if it were true but I have this small inkling of a feeling that she knows better. But we'll see how this unfolds in the weeks to come. But if worse comes to worse, at least some one will tell her the truth. If only Fernie had told me that Ryan was gay last summer, I still wouldn't be kicking myself in the face every time I walk into the Eagle and see Ryan. Awkwardness? Yes. It was so weird to be back at AE last Friday because I used to be at that place 12-25 hours a week. When I was about to walk out, I waited at the entrance for a few seconds before I realized that I didn't have to be walked out by a manager. That place trained/brainwashed me well. Bitches.

(The Stills were correct. So far, Christina: 1, Charles: 1 Hint: 3 batteries. And no googling these song titles/lyrics. Go stare at a database band names or ask for more hints.)

Gender Bombs

There is pain in moving furniture and boxes of books that weight around 50-60 pounds. I think I bent with my back and not with my knees. Tomorrow's possible shooting pain down my back will confirm this notion. I had time to kill so I unpacked a few boxes of clothes until Ryan and Raymond came home. And the following conversation took place:

Ryan: Uh-oh, there's a girl living here now. The toilet seat has to be down now.
Me: Good, now I don't have to post up a note reminding you all of that.
Ryan: Well, you should look before you sit.
Me: Touche.

That is one issue out of the way, now to always remember to bring a towel with me when I shower. Because it's not like I can sprint from the bathroom back to my room.

Today's band isn't that well known but if you're well versed, fish in a barrel. Hint: Canadian logic that will break your heart.

need you so much closer

1 brand new pair of pink shoes
2 bad movies watched this weekend
3 boys to share my summer apartment starting this Wednesday when I officially move in
4 more days until I go back LA (Gack!!!)
5 weeks until I get to hit Ed and ask, "Why are you hitting yourself? Stop hitting yourself."

And who's upset the Brand New concerts are sold out this summer? ME. I was going to throw myself at Jesse Lacey and promise him that I'll never leave him, assuming he'll still be able to write songs and sing them to me for years to come.

Aside from that, I think I'm going to quote a band for each post until I start school. You can play along. Hint: DCFC.

My parents drove all the way to San Diego from LA this morning to hand deliver my new glasses because I broke two pairs in less than a week. Crazy parents. I've lost my emo creds with these glasses. Ah well. Black frames, how I will miss thee. Aside from that madness, I celebrated Solstice with a few friends by eating and playing one too many rounds of 20 Questions. I've (sadly or gladly??) got intellectuals from friends because who in the world would use Roman Emperors or US Senators as categories. But the most incredible thing of all this entire summer so far, all two days of it, was Baskin Robbin's 31 cent scoops!!! Madness!! With one dollar, I sated my greed with two rainbow sherbert sugar cones and bought one for my friend Guy. Again, madness!

PS I also just bought a 24 pack of ice cream sandwiches. Am I over doing the ice cream thing? Never.

Today's my first full day off in about a week and just laying my bed with my laptop on my stomach feels so good. No work. No school. No cramming. Nothing. The boyfriend left earlier this morning for home, so I'm already wishing August were here so we can be conjoined at the hip and do stupid, silly stuff. Sometimes I realize I'm too awesome because how many girlfriends do you know that would hug you goodbye and whisper in your ear: Smell you later.

Finals week revelations

1. Food and sleep are not important.
2. 10+ page papers can be done in one sitting, just not recommended.
3. Facebook is the most evil invention EVER.
4. Anything and everything can become a distraction.
5. The only form of light you receive comes artificially.
6. No matter how many times you say "I'm so fucked!" it still does not change the fact that you are fucked indeed.
7. Scattergories is an oppressive game.
8. If you are tired enough, sleep can be induced anywhere. Floors included.

This is an ongoing list, by the way.

speak in half truths

In two weeks, it's back to the fishbowl and I don't know if I'll survive with my sanity in tact because after nearly three years of life in the open sea, I can't swim in a place bound by glass walls.

Someone cut the ripchords please.

When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep and you're never really awake. No, you're some manic creature convinced you're a member of the living dead. And at this witching hour, with heavy eyelids but a still rapid moving mind, you stare at white walls and wish there was another living soul as sleep deprived as you are. I think I'm a night owl, by some default. And there should be somebody awake at four am to tell me to go to sleep. Or at least to suffer alongside me. But hey, it's only 2:30 am right now, let's hope that I finally feel tired by three.

Except we all know I won't be considering my sleep pattern for the past couple of nights. In an act of desperation, maybe I'll study. Ha.

A series of unfortunate events today culminated in my current miserable state and in this final decision: I don't want to be that book anymore, that boomerang, or that reoccuring dream.

Or at least, that's what he taught me today.

Always second best, in whatever I do and whatever I touch. And all the little things add up until I wish I could just break free. I don't know why I expect him to understand, especially when I say nothing as if my silence should have been the first hint. Yes, I am upset and angry but he'll never know because this silence hides well.

Always second best, not because I'm not good enough but because there will always be something of more importance that I fall behind.

And all I want now is happiness for you and me.

I'm trusting the words of the great lates. Yea, Elliott, you and me both, baby. You and me both.

I browsed the aisle, looking for familiar faces and names, when he hovered over my shoulder and said, "Find anything interesting?" I don't even remember how I replied. My mind was three years in the past to the last time I stepped foot into a comic book store. And now all of the little things surface. It was a Wednesday because every other Wednesday new comics are printed and you would come up to me with a big smile, "It's Comic Day." Comic Galaxy on Garfield Ave. Make a left. You introduced me to the store clerk who was on a first name basis with you. I was the "ball and chain" and laughed at my title. We don't exist like that anymore. It was a ghost of a memory, visiting me as I picked up different issues. I don't even ask myself what you're up to or anything regarding your present. I keep thinking about the past, of who we were, of what we were, and it blurs into a simple haze where only the answers I like surface. Days like these where I find myself in a situation that we easily could have been in just ignites a bomb of regret in me. And I feel old because you have become the cliched lifetime ago. And I miss that verison of you so much.

rum and coke

I went to a party last night. Didn't know a soul so I lingered by the bowl of chips.

"Nice meeting you, who do you know here?"
Smile. "I'm his girlfriend."
"OOOOHHHH."

We stuck around only a few hours, me pushing him to talk to his friends while I found something to do to pass the time. Square pegs, round holes, I knew this was the situation before the night even started. Our worlds always collide with such strong force. I wonder if I could ever take him to a party with my AE friends. Those kids play hard with shots and smokes of all kinds. On New Years, everyone was so fucked up but laughing so hard.

This has been one fucked up week and I am constantly dreaming of any other place but here.

an everlasting love

I don't think I'm capable of writing anything beyond this depressing dribble which in turns makes me a bit sad. Oh, viscous cycle, how you repeat and destroy me so easily. This might be another failed attempt but I'm only good for melancholy and some infinite sadness. Well that and making music references. Which I've come to discover I can hardly make around the current boy in my life because he's a nerd of the endearing type. Denouncer of the emo scene, lover of the sci-fi, and an engineering major to boot. I know how to pick them. What broke my emo heart was my declaration of love for Zack Morris today and his response of "Who's that?" Slap to the face, much? At that point, I felt something tear apart inside. That could have been my soul crying. Or dying.

before i knew of this poem, there was me

Stars, Songs, Faces
Gather the stars if you wish it so.
Gather the songs and keep them.
Gather the faces of women.
Gather for keeping years and years.
And then . . .
Loosen your hands, let go and say goodby.
Let the stars and songs go.
Let the faces and years go.
Loosen your hands and say goodbye.

--Carl Sandburg

New year resolutions = regrets

Let's have none of that now.

February approaches. So much bitterness. So much spite of what was. I never was fond of this short month. Where is my apathy? Oh, inverted world.

Winter is here. I wish it would rain. So I can crawl inside you where I know it's warm.