| yeah, real bored. |
[26 Jul 2005|06:39pm] |
Last Cigarette: two minutes ago.
Last Cry: this morning, after a phonecall misunderstanding that led me to feel like a huge mean asshole whose friends don't actually ever want her around, and maybe she should just move away and not tell anyone because they probably wouldn't care anyway.
Last Book read: the new Harry Potter.
Last Movie Seen In a Theatre: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and i really hated it.
Last Cuss Word Uttered: fuck.
Last Beverage Drank: water.
Last Food Consumed: a bowl full of grilled onions. the only food in the house that i bought.
Last phone call: rachael brown.
Last TV Show Watched: 7th Heaven
Last Time Showered: this morning.
Last Shoes Worn: fuschia flats.
Last CD Played: of montreal.
Last Thing Written: the livejournal post before this. man, that's bad.
Last Words Spoken: "maybe i should fly there? isn't it cheap to fly to dc? well, i know nothing about transportation and stuff."
Last Sleep: last night, 10 full hours.
Last IM: months ago. probably a feeble attempt to talk to my estranged ex.
Last Time Wanting to Die: this morning after the phonecall.
Last Dance: sunday night, and really half-heartedly and ending in less than a minute to go to the bathroom, where i just washed my face and wondered why i couldn't get drunk off 3 jack and cokes.
Last Big Car Ride: the ride home from a camping trip in savoy, mass.
Last Annoyance: nothing is on tv except a 7th Heaven episode i've seen a bunch of times. oh and probably this boy who won't call me.
Last Disappointment: i guess this boy who won't call me. i thought he really liked me even though i acted like a neurotic insecure psycho, mainly cos he told me he liked me and then...well, i guess it's all cliche.
Last Time Scolded: the phonecall. for saying something insensitive without knowing it, and the reason for it being insensitive made no sense to me, just made me feel guilty about something else altogether.
Last Shirt Worn: turbodillo.
Last Pants: no pants.
Last Web Site Visited: google.
Last song you listened to: "isn't it nice?" of montreal.
Last song that was stuck in your head: "hey boy (why you didn't call me?)" the blow.
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| 7th Heaven |
[26 Jul 2005|06:37pm] |
mom: there's something wrong with my husband and i don't know what to do.
bartender: well, didn't he just have open heart surgery?
mom: yes, about a month ago. and i'm afraid...i'm afraid they took out a piece of his heart.
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| and i made my own tortilla chips! |
[12 Jul 2005|09:03am] |
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it was supposed to be a laid back dinner party, but instead i went the whole nine with the food. and wore an apron. and i drank too much. and i have these huge bruises on the backs of my calves from lugging grocery bags around dorchester. and i woke up early this morning because that's what i always do with a hangover. but i had a great time. thanks friends! sorry i just stood up at 1am and said to everyone, "i'm going to bed. say bye to me now."
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| lesson learned: |
[07 Jul 2005|03:11pm] |
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you only find an antique working typewriter for $14 and a great pair of culottes when you're looking for a rain slicker.
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| leaking sockets a good sign (?) |
[05 Jul 2005|07:16pm] |
i just wept watching the latest six feet under o.d. (that's on demand, for all you lamens), and i thought maybe it was just a really touching episode, but then i cried while watching seventh heaven, which was also a touching episode, but really! maybe i can blame it on hormones (?)
hangover (?) or just the fact that i'm really in touch with my emotions at this stage in my life (?!?)
it's ok, though. i think i've learned to just let things be and be happy and shit. chill out, you know. and it's ok to cry while watching some dramatic television!
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| saturday afternoon in jp. |
[04 Jul 2005|12:49pm] |
into harvest for one or two pieces of handfruit. an apple or a peach or maybe a pear - ideally a pear, but only if it's the kind i like. they never have that kind.
"hi again tom."
"hi. going to work?"
"well, i'm getting some fruit first."
"i'm getting a sandwich."
"alright."
tom's a casual acquaintance that i've run into about 10 times in the past week or so.
turn the corner to the produce, wondering if i'll run into him on the way out and if it'll be awkward or if i'll just say "bye," and wondering if i won't run into him again and that'll be more awkward in that inconclusive-run-in way.
get an apple. look at some hard green and too-soft brown pears. get a plum. hold them in each of my hands, moving them up and down like i'm comparing their weight, which is funny to me because the plum's obviously much smaller. laugh.
to cash register, glancing at the sandwich counter, fearing low-level awkwardness.
"hey! how are you!"
"oh, hi, you two."
"you have such a good memory! i bet you see customers in jp all the time!"
"yeah, i remember faces well."
"melissa right?"
"yes! alissa."
"oh, is that with an e?"
"yes! with an a."
"my name is ______, and this is _______."
"yes! that's right."
"we met your sister at the gate!"
"oh?"
"we knew it from the tell-tale matching chicks tattoo."
"we're twins, you know."
"of course!"
"and it's a birthmark, not a tattoo."
"ha-ha! you're not even identical! the chances of that..."
"our parents were baffled."
"so, what are you doing in harvest?"
"buying some handfruit."
"ha-ha! i get it: fruit you hold in your hand! i like that."
"yes. i wish i could juggle, because i would right now."
"it would be better if you had three handfruits."
"i guess so, but it doesn't matter because i can't juggle at all."
"you could learn."
"yeah, but i'm too scared."
"of what?"
"dropping my fruit on the ground and bruising it."
"well, you could buy one of those books with the little sandbags."
"yes. but i won't. i don't have that kind of motivation."
"i guess you have to be impulsive to buy those sorts of books."
"or really calculating."
"i guess so. ha-ha!
"so are you guys buying groceries?"
"no, fishfood for ________'s daughter."
"oh, good. fish are very convenient pets. well, i better be going now. maybe i'll risk it all and learn to juggle."
"great to see you, take care, have a good fourth!"
"you too!"
walk out of harvest. forget to say goodbye to tom.
later, drop my half-eaten apple. get really sad for a minute. i wasn't even juggling. i just knocked it off the table with my elbow. but at least it wasn't one of those pears i really like.
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[03 Jun 2005|11:56am] |
i had this weird dream last night:
someone who was supposed to be an oracle (ok ok, it mary kate olsen) said to me, "your skin is clear, but your eyes are clouded."
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[01 Jun 2005|03:35pm] |
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i wash my hair every day because i hate the smell of scalp above all things.
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| quiet, quiet, shhh baby. now SCREAM! |
[12 May 2005|03:58pm] |
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OK. I HAVE A LOT OF ANGER AND IT'S AT MYSELF AND EVERYONE IN THIS WORLD, BUT MOSTLY APPLE. FUCK YOU APPLE FOR SELLING ME THE WRONG THING: HOPE THAT I COULD GET WIRELESS ACCESS ON MY FREE DINOSAUR IMAC CIRCA 1998. YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST TOLD ME THAT IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO STEAL INTERNET FROM MY UPSTAIRS NEIGHBORS! (IT'S NOT STEALING, THEY'RE SHARING, BUT NOT WITH ME THEY'RE NOT, NO, I'M PITCHING IN, BUT I CAN'T USE IT BECAUSE I HAVE TWO USELESS FUCKING COMPUTERS BECAUSE I'M IN THE STONEAGE AND I'M POOR AND I DON'T HAVE RICH PARENTS TO BUY ME A FUCKING IMAC MINI OR WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY'RE CALLED. OH, NOW I'M USING MY ROOMMATE'S COMPUTER, BUT THEY SECRETLY HATE THAT I USE IT AND THEY HATE ME AND I HATE ME). INSTEAD, YOU SOLD ME SOME BULLSHIT FOR $129 WHICH I SHOULDN'T EVEN SPEND. AND I HAVE TO FIGURE OUT A WAY TO FITCHBURG ON SUNDAY BECAUSE NO ONE CARES NO ONE CARES NO ONE CARES! APPLE, YOU SHOULD GIVE ME A RIDE TO FITCHBURG FOR MY FUCKING GRADUATION PARTY THAT I DON'T WANT TO GO TO, AND YOU SHOULD TELL MY PARENTS I SMOKE NOW BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO, AND YOU SHOULD CUDDLE ME AT NIGHT WHEN I'M LONELY. AND KILL ALL OF THE PEOPLE I HATE OR PUT THEM IN JAIL OR SEND THEM TO GREENLAND. PLEASE, APPLE? FOR ALL THE STRESS YOU CAUSED ME TODAY, YOU OWE ME AT LEAST THAT. AND FIX MY MAKE UP. WHEN I PUT IT ON THIS MORNING IT LOOKED PERFECT, AND THEN I HAD THOSE RAGE TEARS YOU BROUGHT ON AND NOW I'M A MESS! FUCKERS!
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[27 Mar 2005|11:28pm] |
my new favorite movie is save the last dance.
shut up!
no, shut up!
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| A dream journal was on my list of New Years Resolutions. HOWEVER: |
[07 Jan 2005|12:21pm] |
I'm not retaining the specifics of my dreams properly. I used to remember them so vividly, nightly. I think it's this new place. The walls are still too empty; they suck up the details of my dreams as I'm waking and I'm left with nothing to write down.
At least I have a toilet now. Sink and bathtub tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Fingers crossed.
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| dorchester ain't bad. |
[06 Jan 2005|12:22pm] |
while walking to work in jamaica plain yesterday, an old black man smiled at me. i mean old. like at least 65. I smiled back even though i was in a nasty mood and he said to me:
"Well, I'd have sex with you."
he said it as if i'd been walking down south street muttering over and over, "no one will have sex with me!"
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| worst. |
[31 Dec 2004|03:22pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 relieved |
] |
| [ |
music |
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silence |
] |
this morning when i awoke i wanted to die. i wanted to die i wanted to die i wanted to die and nothing was helping. then i held an icecube wrapped in a cloth napkin in my inner labia for an hour, and now, thank god, i want to live again.
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| maybe a little introspectively vulgar. god i'm fucking lame lately. |
[29 Dec 2004|02:40pm] |
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I am internally conflicted over what word to use in reference to my vagina. I’ve been trying to come to terms with the word “pussy” all morning, and it’s not working. In the shower I practiced aloud: “I just washed my pussy,” and “Dove soap does not irritate my pussy at all,” and “Should I shave my pussy?” and “My pussy is wet.” The last one bothered me the most; regardless of the context, I felt vulgar. I mean, my pussy was wet. It was in direct contact with a stream of water. I was still uncomfortable with the fact that I seemed to be talking dirty to myself. That’s an issue I have to work on. I don’t know how cool I am with talking dirty in general, but I’d like to have the option. Right now, using words I’m comfortable with like “cooter” and “poon” aren’t cutting the mustard. I’ve tried, honestly. “My cooter is wet,” and “I want you to lick my poon.” No. No real dirty talker would take me seriously. I need desperately to be taken seriously in sexual situations. Wait, do I? I’ve always enjoyed a little silliness in the bedroom. I don’t necessarily want to be having pornstar sex. How can I play both sides? Maybe I’m overthinking this. Maybe I shouldn’t have smoked pot first thing this morning.
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| today. |
[18 Dec 2004|03:25pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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a little shaky. |
] |
do's and don'ts.
1. DO take your thesis advisor out for brunch and talk about how the Internet is becoming so integrated in our lives that it's scary.
2. DO watch videotaped episodes of the cosby show in bed with two of your close friends when you should be christmas shopping.
3. DON'T call him. he should call you.
4. DON'T go to the mall the saturday before christmas. you have a weak stomach and a head prone to aches. all the children there scream and scream.
5. DON'T sit on the inside seat on the bus. a middle aged man with a blonde 90's hairstyle will sit next to you and try to hold your hand repeatedly until you tell him, "please stop that," which you should say right off the bat, but you get all flustered from the initial shock of the outrageous act, and then when it's your stop he'll say, "are you leaving?" and wave at you through the window as the bus drives on.
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| nighttime. |
[07 Dec 2004|11:08am] |
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old dirty bastard was in my dream last night.
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| what a waste. |
[03 Dec 2004|12:56pm] |
i sat outside to have a smoke and a cup of tea.
westley came out with me, and the first thing he did was pick up a dead sparrow and start to shake it around. i kept yelling at him: "drop that dirty thing, drop it!" and "you're disgusting, westley, i hate you!" he was hissing at me and growling and kept pacing back and forth in front of me, showing off. the sparrow's head looked like it was about to fall of from all the shaking, and westley started eating it. i got real angry. and my tea tasted like the smell of raw chicken.
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| the saddest dream. |
[21 Nov 2004|01:04am] |
| [ |
mood |
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oh god. |
] |
| [ |
music |
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the shins |
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here's the thing:
...my life?
coming home drunk to an open apartment door and my two cats, and talking to them:
"my loves? do you want food? oh. you want food."
giving them food and then petting them and then:
"you're all i have, you're all i have in this world."
and knowing it isn't really true, but really honestly meaning it.
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