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.)