I love being alone.

I am sick of touching strangers. I touch them all the time, every day. On the subway. On the sidewalks. In the grocery store. In restaurants. Waiting in lines. Lines! When I first got to New York, I was overwhelmed with all the standing in lines I do. I would joke, "When people ask me what I did in New York, I'm going to say I waited in line!" I'm used to waiting in line now, but I still don't like touching strangers. Luckily I'm pretty good at maneuvering my body through tight spaces without touching anything, like the tweezers in Operation.

I've decided to make a big change in my life. It's going to affect some people. I'm not sure if they'll like the change, but I will. Sometimes you have to do things for yourself. I've learned a lot of things about myself this summer.

My dad has this phrase--his catchphrase, I guess you could call it, but he directs it toward me exclusively. A few months ago, I was struggling with certain things, and my dad said to me, "Fly with the eagles, Lisa." I didn't take this to heart. He bought me a ceramic bald eagle statue from Cabelas, and when he gave it to me, I laughed. It hurt his feelings. We fought about this. We always fight when he knows I'm struggling. Last night I was talking to my mom and I told her, "You know Mom, I've been flying with the eagles all summer, and I'm not going to stop." She called me a few hours later as I was falling asleep to tell me that Dad was proud of me. "Why?" I asked. "Because you told me you're flying with eagles. He asked if you really said that, that you were flying with eagles like he said, and I told him you'd really said you were 'flying with the eagles.' He was so happy you'd said that."

I have really amazing parents. One of my lifelong goals is to be as good of parents as they've been.

It's funny how our emotions change as we get older. When you're a kid, you really only feel happiness and sadness. I'm sad because my fish died. I'm happy because I'm eating a popsicle. Those are really the only realities. Once you hit puberty, you've added maybe 30. Awkwardness, self-consciousness. By the time you're an adult, you've added hundreds of emotions to those initial two. Confusion, betrayal, depression, elation, jubilation, annoyance. Life grows more complex, but we grow better equipped to handle it. At least that's the goal.

Tomorrow is my last day of work. I'm going to play Nintendo Wii and Guitar Hero all day.

I am nervous to go back to Provo. My life is no longer there.

I am happier than I've been in a very long time. Genuinely happy. Full of peace and joy. My life is on a very good path.

What can you do? We're through.

I predicted accurately that Tuesday would be a good day. First, I e-mailed a guy from this Web site I just reviewed that's based in Lindon, UT: footnote.com. The site has a partnership with the National Archives and a few other libraries, and they're digitizing EVERY document in their holdings. (There are about 9 billion documents in the National Archives alone!) At any rate, I sent along my resume, inquiring if they had any open positions I'd fit into. I got a quick e-mail back saying, Yes! We do! And it's only part time work, which is exactly what I need! It's not a sure thing, but it's at least out on the table. I was so happy. Then, one of my editors at PC Mag asked if I wanted to do some freelancing once I'm back in Utah. Heck yes, I do! Then Phil and I played Marry Boff Kill for three hours and laughed and hollered and had a blast. My favorite option Phil gave me was Billy Corgan; he had an upside-down mouth, suffered from seizures every 30 seconds, and he was a highlander. Genius!

Last night I went to Coney Island with Megan, Phil and Dan. We rode the Cyclone! Phil and I rode it twice! Once again we laughed and hollered and had a blast. We ate at Nathan's. We took photos in the photo booth. We played Marry Boff Kill. Megan and I started our stop motion short film. Yancy was sad he couldn't come too. So were we.

Tonight after work I bought a white dress. Then I went record shopping (go figure). Then I went to a guitar shop that had the most beautiful collection of hollow bodied Gretsch's, and the guys who worked there just sat and played a different guitar whenever they wanted to (keep in mind they're playing $3,000-and-up gems!!). Then I relaxed on a bench in Washington Square Park for awhile. There was a man playing guitar and singing songs, and he was VERY good. He started playing the great love song "I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter," which he must've known is one of my favs thanks to Sara Vaughan. The last line of the song says, "I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter and make believe it came from you." As he sang that, I turned to look at him, and he sang that last line to me! It was so cute and I threw my head back and tossed my hair and grinned a big grin as I do when I really think something's funny, and he fell in love with me right then and there. Then I saw "My Best Friend," aka "Mon Meilleur Ami." It wasn't as good as I'd hoped.

All I know is that if adulthood is anything like this summer has been, I've got a great future ahead of me.

Make sure you listen to this.

Here is a list of my favorite songs that are so beautiful they make me cry.

Jussi Bjorling--"Morgen"
Gavin Clarke--"Never Seen the Sea"
Yann Tiersen--"La Terrasse"
Chet Baker--"I Get Along Without You Very Well," "Little Girl Blue"
Loney, Dear--"Where Are You Go Go Going To?"
Daedelus--"Muggle Born"
(Smog)--"I Feel Like the Mother of the World"
The Moody Blues--"Nights in White Satin"
Nina Simone--"Wild is the Wind"
Petula Clark--"Downtown"

Stupid Stupid-head!

Today is a good day. I feel it in my loins. Loin is a weird word. It makes me think of pork. I don't like pork.

Last night I met up with a friend and his brother, and Lani (bless her heart--she won an extra day in New York because her flight got canceled) at Pepe Rosso, my favorite Italian restaurant in all of New York City. I've mentioned it before. It's that place where all of Italy congregates, with a few French and Spanish stragglers. It's great!

Well, we had just barely sat down when my friend's brother blurts out, "Man, I couldn't believe those Cheney kids at BYU this year." Lani and I look at each other straightaway. He does not want to get into this, I think. "I couldn't believe those kids had such disrespect for that political office. If Bill Clinton came, I would respect him." Poor argument, Buddy. You and your conservative comrades proved that wouldn't be the case my freshman year at BYU, when former White House press correspondent Helen Thomas was booed during a forum in the Marriott Center. If kids can't handle a liberal journalist, they sure can't handle a full-fledged liberal politician! At any rate, he continued, saying, "I think it's okay for the women to protest. But the men who protested? What a bunch of sissies! Liberal men are so girly." I looked him straight in the eye, my jaw gaping, and clarified: "You really think liberal men are effeminate?" Yes, he confirmed. "Conversely, do you think being conservative makes a woman more manly?" Yes, he confirmed. We hashed it out over Cheney for a while. He couldn't grasp why any Mormon wouldn't like Cheney. I brought up the unethical things Cheney's done, his inappropriate behavior, his questionable company ties, and all this kid could do was roll his eyes. Apparently being Republican is more important to him than being Christ-like. He asked if I would ever vote for Mitt Romney. I said I don't want a Republican John Kerry for president. But he's Mormon! So what? I don't like him. Are you pro-life? I didn't answer. Gay marriage? You don't want to get into this, I said. I debated whether or not I should tell him I'm pro-marijuana legalization. I'll bet 95 percent of Mormons voted Republican in the last election, he said. Take Utah County, for example. At least 95 percent, and that's a pretty good judge of Mormons, he said. My jaw dropped again. 80 percent at most, I said. I think most Democrats in Utah only vote that way to be different, he continued. They just want to be independent, you know, they don't want to fit in. This kid! He drew from extreme upon extreme as his examples, and each time I countered him with truth. And to think he's in law school! I kicked his trash. By the end of our conversation he was stammering "I don't knows" and stuttering and rolling his eyes. But hey--I've spent four years debating knuckleheads like him, so I'm pretty pro.

There are some huge idiots in this world, my friends. Let's take 'em down.

I always feel like the mother of the world.

I think I have mentioned how the past three weeks I've been waking up every morning, without exception, at 6:17 am. I haven't figured out the significance of this time yet, aside from the fact it's now my least favorite time of day. It's a full hour before 7:17 am, the time I prefer to get up, and because of my active mind I can never get back to sleep so I lose out on that hour of sleep every day. The only remedy I've found is to go to bed earlier, but this plan always fails. I am thinking the mental anticipation and stress of readjusting to life in Provo are doing it. Darn them.

I have had a reoccurring dream since I was in kindergarten. I'm standing in my kindergarten playground at Sequoia Elementary. It's a gorgeous day. The sunlight beams lackadaisically. The clouds smile, plump and full and white as marshmallows. Suddenly, a shadow crosses paths with the sun. A plane, perhaps, or just a cloud. It is recess time, and all the children in the yard look up to see what creature has dared disrupt their sunshine splendor. It is me! It is me and I am flying, soaring, whirlygigging through the air. I am wearing a green coolot dress (that's what my mom called skorts). I never speak--I simply fly. I fly all over the playground. I fly up to the tops of the big oak trees and the towering eucalyptus. I fly over to my friend Melissa Jones' house down the street perpendicular to that playground. I fly over the big kids' playground on the opposite side of the school. My classmates are in awe. I flip and twirl and circle and I am full of delight. I am a bird. I have always loved birds.

Sometimes I judge the passage of time--mainly how soon something in the future is--by the extended forecast in the online weather report. I know I am leaving New York soon because August 9 has now entered extended forecast territory. It must be soon if the weatherman feels certain enough in his prediction to report on it. Scattered showers, 82 degrees, 60 percent chance of precipitation, undoubtedly 80 to 90 percent humidity.

Today I saw my daughters* on the subway. They were sisters. They were as close to fairies as two little girls can get. They giggled at nothing and everything. Their hair wisped around their faces like straw spun into gold. Someday I will have my little Ruby and my little Pearl, and they will be just like those girls, except they will be mine. We will have a horse because every little girl wants a horse. He will be white and gray and his name will be Starfire, like the Low song, and because Starfire is the best name in the whole world for a horse.
(*how I imagine my daughters will be)

On Friday night, after Phil and I got our "vintage" Nikes, we went in the Ritz-Carlton to use the restroom. If you ever come to New York, know not to go the R-C on the south end of Central Park, the one next to the Plaza. We go in, and the lobby is terribly small. There are no restrooms. Confused, we get in the elevator. Unaccustomed to the ways of the rich, Phil and I are told by another young woman in the elevator that you need your room key to go up. "Oh, we left ours in our room," Phil pulls out of his you-know-what. We get off on Level 3. It's a room floor, and all the bathrooms are behind locked doors. We find the stairs and go down a level. A bathroom! Yes! But we still need to get back out. The elevator you need a key for is out of the question, so we continue on the stairs. A level down from this bathroom, we realize the stairs might not be of much help either, but lo! I look up and I see Pellegrino and bottled water sitting on top of a big yellow cabinet. I walk over to it, fully intending to snag some R-C spring water, when I see a plethora of bottled Coke products inside! Coke in 8-ounce glass bottles! I don't see special things like this everyday. Phil and I stuff some in our bags (really, I feel worse about stealing than it sounds--I am the girl who won't even pick up change off the ground because it's not mine) and continue down the stairs. We find ourselves in the boondocks of the hotel. A dude that works down there finds up and scurries us out the door. We escaped with our Cokes and most of our dignity.

Here is a link to my Guitar Hero 3 story.

I am going to see this movie and I am excited. It's about skinheads. I have a few friends who used to be skinheads. That's not why I want to see it though.

I am leaving the states.

Forget my wedding night--last night was surely the best night of my life. I saw Sonic Youth, my favorite (I rarely assign this term to anything) band play in Brooklyn. It was life-changing. When I see bands like SY play, I feel so selfish as a musician, because I have all this musical ability that I'm not really doing anything with.

I am really not happy I have to go back to Provo in ten days. I am going to stop saying this though, and then maybe I won't care as much.

Phil and I bought some of those "vintage" Nikes. I'm still not sure on mine, but I will probably keep them because they're bright green, and I love a happy shoe. I tried on some white ones too--white with a blue swoosh and yellow detailing--but I think I would feel too Joe Castor in them. There was a Japanese dude who reeked of cool when we were in Niketown. He bought 13 pairs on the spot. The salespeople said he'd bought a ton more earlier in the day. He was a crafty young dude, I tell ya, undoubtedly hocking them on the streets of Tokyo for twice the US price.

This morning there was a dead mouse on my kitchen floor.

Right now Trent, Joe and Phil are staying with me. It makes me sad because I have to wear clothes when I'm at home now. Dan is over right now. We are watching Planet Earth and eating cheesecake with strawberry topping that Phil made. It's raining, and even though it's not hot outside, you still sweat because of the humidity. I am not okay with this.

Dan got a job at VH1 Classic. I think that job is pretty cool. He works in production, so he goes to the shoots. I'm telling you this as he's telling Joe this.

I always get depressed on Sundays. I think it's just because life slows down too much for my taste. Because Monday I'm happy again. Funny how I work.

Now we are watching some old dude on TV talking about rubbing iPods together to make fire. New York has some really weird TV.

Also, this video shaped much of my life. Thank you, Captain Steve-O.

It's in your ear. It's in your heart.

I know when I like someone because I start singing all the love songs I know. I sing songs Billie Holiday taught me. I sing duets with Chet Baker. I trade licks with Ella. I've been singing a lot lately. I think I like someone. I'm not sure who it is yet.

Tonight I went to a Guitar Hero 3 party. The game doesn't come out until late October, but I and a big handful of lucky dudes got to go to the Gibson showroom in Hell's Kitchen and play an early version of the final game. It rocked. It is so improved from Guitar Hero 2, I could hardly believe it. The only problem is that I'm already on the expert level, at least on the songs from the main set list. Already on expert--I never went lower than 92 percent--and tonight was my first time playing the game. Ridiculous. I was the only girl there, but I beat every guy I played. I have never felt such adoration and respect. Pathetic.

Afterward, I went to Malecon with Holly, Luke, Megan, Ann, Alejandro, Marcus, Brian, Seth, Dan and Phirre Phir. They had all helped Megan and Holly move while I kicked Guitar Hero trash. Malecon is a unique place in that it's his own world. Tonight people tried to sell me stuff three different times: two times it was little Asian ladies selling bootleg Harry Potter DVDs. Then it was a little man selling roses. I commented on this to Megan, and she explained the infrastructure of Malecon to me. "The man in the blue shirt and tie is the president," Megan said. "Then we have the Congress--the servers. Then come the townspeople--us. And those salespeople are the free enterprise!" It makes perfect sense, but I think I deserve better than "villager" status. Also, you can't get any service there unless you speak Spanish, and I think I'm okay with that.

It's not unusual to be loved by anyone.

I've been thinking about this concept lately. Really the past hour. But the concept of being alone but not really alone. What I mean by that is I may be by myself -- meaning not with a group of friends, just me by myself in a crowd -- and even though I'm alone, I don't feel alone because I'm happy. Conversely, one may be with a group of friends -- not physically alone -- but be emotionally alone. These are not foreign concepts. Everyone feels this way from time to time. I thought of it tonight because we talked about "mists of darkness" in Institute, and the speaker tonight turned to me and asked me for an example of one of these "mists of darkness". I said loneliness. It started us on a tangent, talking about why we feel this way, who feels this way. I was astounded that every member of the audience (granted there were only about 20 of us) raised a hand, affirming they'd felt the pains of depression. It's important to remember how alike we all are.

The train was packed coming home from work earlier. I bumped bums with this one lady the whole time. She had the squishiest bum I have ever felt. Of course, I haven't touched too many bums, but this one was like a down pillow or a marshmallow or a water bed. I wished my bed were as squishy and malleable as her bum. Maybe that's weird, but that's the way I felt. (For the record, I do NOT want to lay in her bum. I just wish its squishiness were clone-able).

I have a week-and-a-half left at work. Nine days. I am starting to check out. It's not good.

I am beginning to miss the simple comforts of Provo life. The fact it doesn't take 30 minutes to get places. The fact I can go a few days without washing my hair. The fact that cheap thrills are actually cheap. Having a washer and dryer in my house. My chimes hanging outside my bedroom window. Not having to fight for pedestrian right of way 100 percent of the time (though there are still those in Provo who insist on trying to run me over). Smelling little to no BO on the people around me. Not getting hollered and honked and smiled and winked and pssst at by guys (seriously--is that the best you've got?)

I came home today and my apartment smelled like sewage. I'm not sure what happened. I think it's just the fact I live in a pre-war building, which means there's almost a hundred years of human stank festering in this place.

Anyway, I'm covering the launch of Guitar Hero III Thursday night. It's at the Gibson Showroom (Gibson, like the guitar maker). I'm going to pee my pants.

alone but not alone

Today was an odd day.

I woke up at 3:30 this morning for no reason. I remembered four dreams. They were all about the same person, except for one. I finally fell back to sleep around 4:30, but when I woke up again at 7:30, I didn't remember any of them.

I hung out with Ryan after work today. Ryan my summer '05 fling. He is still intimidated by me and doesn't talk much. I randomly saw two people I know on the street when I was with him: first Alejandro at the Shake Shack, and then Ellie in Union Square. We sat in the park for a short while, and every place smelled like dog pee. Then we went to Strand and I bought Geoff his book.

We parted ways about 7:15. I walked over to Madison Square Garden to meet up with Lani. While there I saw Lauren and Scott, two high school friends. They live in Brooklyn.

Lani and I went to Billy's and shared a slice of banana cake with cream cheese frosting. I bought lemon lime selzer water at Rite Aid. It was gross, but the lady who I bought it from was Jamaican.

Then we walked back to Union Square and I bought bread, salad and pasta at Trader Joe's. We got on the L train. Everyone got off our car at the 6th Avenue stop, and we were going to 8th, so we danced and frolicked in our car since we were the only two people. I've wanted to do that ever since I got here. Now it's done.

I got on the A train, and who do I sit next to but Hot Pocket (this nickname refers to a young man who asked a friend of mine out on a date -- for a picnic -- and brought chicken and cheese Hot Pockets as their entree). Luckily Hot Pocket was so engrossed in whatever he was drawing, he didn't notice me. Even I didn't notice him until two stops before mine.

The ceiling in Phil's apartment caved in, at least in the bathroom, so he's coming over to take a shower. But it's 11. So I'm going to bed.

I have an insatiable desire to go to Coney Island, probably by myself. I am going to Sonic Youth by myself on Saturday, after I spend the day record shopping in Chelsea. But I can't wait, you see, because I love being by myself in big crowds and feeling alone but not alone.

This is the saddest thing I've read in a long time.

Sad story, courtesy of BBC News.

And this one too.

I cannot be friends with over-40, single males.

I forgot to address some very important issues.

#1. I bought chains in Chinatown on Saturday. Not chains like necklace chains, but chains like ghetto-fab chains that attach to your pants and wallet. I will be the only white girl (well, probably only girl) rocking chains in Provo, but at least I'll be rocking them.
#2. Come Fall semester '07, my car will not transport me to campus and back. No no, I will be riding a Razor scooter. It will have green wheels, and I will switch off between normal and goofy foot so I don't develop one unnaturally large leg.
#3. I've taken to saying "mad," like, "That's mad tyte," or "You're face is mad annoying." I picked it up in Syracuse.

Lastly, here is the opening of an online conversation I had with my friend Cade this morning.

9:53 AM Cade: Happiness is a Del Taco quesadilla breakfast.

9:57 AM me: Or a rainstorm in Manhattan.

9:58 AM Cade: In the tradition of crappy impressions: "Hi my name is Lisa. I live and work in NYC for the summer."

9:59 AM me: "Hi my name is Cade. I'm a self-centered prick who makes fun of his friends."

Hey Mambo!

Today I am feeling better. Today I am melancholy. Today I mostly just miss my grandparents. I should grow up.

I have two weeks left at PC Mag. It's funny, because two months ago I was convinced I was going to leave come mid-June. In retrospect this was the silliest thing I've ever thought. I am so SO glad I stayed in New York all summer. I wish I were staying longer. I leave in 17 days. Yesterday, Zack and I met in Fort Tryon Park before church. There was a, oh I'd say ten-year-old boy there who was scared of squirrels, so scared he squealed when one chased after him. Those are some tenacious squirrels in that park. I saw them sitting on this one dude's lap. Granted, he was feeding them peanuts, but still! Wild, domesticated squirrels. One almost climbed up my leg. Anyway, Zack left for Provo today. He said he was 20 percent excited. I'm probably 10-15 percent excited, which means I am mostly dreading it.

I am taking fun classes this semester. Super 8, ProTools, a mic-ing class, new media video production, media literacy, and a French conversation class. At least that's what I'm signed up for right now.

My roommate moved out this weekend, so I have the apartment to myself for the next week. So far I have been half-clothed/not clothed 100 percent of the time. Yay!

Saturday night I saw Daedelus play in Brooklyn. Look how cute he is! I went with my friend Lani, who's visiting from Provo. What's funny is that she said to me: "You should have him sign your boobs." I retorted: "This is not my speed." And then I got a text from Capree that said: "Have him sign your boobs for me." In keeping with my character, I did not have him sign my boobs. There's always his Salt Lake show in October for that. But Daedelus is so awesome. He has this little button machine that he plays. I wish I were at home right now so I could upload photos of him playing it. Maybe I will in the next entry.

Yesterday after church I went for a walk up to the park. I've noticed more lately that I really love the middle: the middle of sidewalks, the middle of benches, the middle seat on the subway. I just really like being in the middle. I know this means something about me psychologically, but I forget what. I think it has something to do with confidence. Or maybe arrogance. Or maybe that's just the fast lane on New York sidewalks.

Speaking of the park, yesterday as I was sitting in the park, facing the Hudson, I noticed a man watching me. It wasn't too weird until later I passed him on Ft. Washington at 187th. Coincidence, I thought. I turned and walked up 187th to catch the rest of the amazing sunset, and as I turned to leave I saw him again! Black Levi's, red t-shirt, moustache. Hopefully he's not lurking out PC Mag Labs.

A coworker of mine (and a native New Yorker) asked me a few weeks ago how I picked up the New York walk so fast as we headed down 28th to Chipotle. "It's genetic. My dad walks this way too," I said. That is true. But most people in New York walk like cattle about to be branded: apprehensive, cautions, fearful. You can tell a New York transplant from a block away because of their poor walking habits. I like what this guy has to say about walking in New York.

I really love White Rabbit candy.

Sometimes I just stop breathing. I don't know what to make of it. All I know is that I notice when I haven't inhaled for awhile.

I have been waking up at 6:17 am for a week-and-a-half straight. I don't know what to make of that either, but it means I've been getting to work earlier.

I've been to heaven and I've been to hell.

My dad, aunt and uncle are dividing up everything in my grandparents' house right now. They've all known for months that the only thing I really wanted was Papa's stereo equipment. His turntable, receiver and speakers. I just got off the phone with my dad, and they stole 'em out from under me like squirrels in Fort Tryon Park. My aunt is taking the turntable, my sticky-fingered uncle is taking the receiver, so that leaves me with the speakers. They're taking everything of value out of that house. That's the only thing I really wanted. They're making off with hundreds of thousands in inheritance, let alone the fact they're taking my grandma's china and all her valuable furniture, and they're fighting over Papa's '65 Mustang like two children. I don't even care about that stuff. I don't care about not getting money from Grandma and Papa. All I wanted was that stupid turnable and stupid receiver. I feel really burned. What makes it worse is that the only person who I really want to talk to about this is Dave, and I can't freaking call him.

I was going to write about other stuff. I had a few paragraphs before the first one. But now I am too sad and mad and hurt to write about anything else for now. I am a big baby. On the bright side, I am eating a really tasty mango popsicle.

we call that "total package" where i come from

Tonight I went to hear the New York Philharmonic play in Central Park on the Great Lawn. The Great Lawn really is great: it's where Simon and Garfunkel played their concert in Central Park many years ago. Tonight was no different.

I arrived, alone, about an hour before showtime. The place was packed. I didn't want to hunt for a place, so I found an open patch of dirt on one of the baseball diamonds. Pitcher's mound. Apparently I'd plopped in the middle of a pathway that didn't turn into a pathway until I got there, so my spread was bombarded by shoes and people and footprints. A man and his mother opened their chairs on a patch of dirt too small for them both. George and Mary. George reminded me of Uncle Greg. Gay, bald, earring in the left ear. Sam vocal inflection. It was uncanny. We talked about opera, the Met. Mary didn't speak.

Christina arrived. The orchestra began. It was beautiful. The last piece was my favorite, however. I don't even know what it was. But I laid back on the sheet I'd brought and stared into the sky. It was nighttime, but New York never has a true nighttime with all its lights. The clouds wove together into a delicate silken lace, dyed pink by dusk and the sparkling city. I watched a few sets of balloons disappear into the sky. One bundle was pink, just like the sky. I couldn't follow it. It floated off, seemingly evaporating into the clouds. A plane darted up and down between the cloud's fibers. I called it a firefly. A girl tried to walk over my outstretched legs. "Excuse me," she said. "You can step over," I replied. She huffed. Four people had just successfully maneuvered my and Christina's outstretched legs. She could do the same.

I love New York. I love my life. I even love the premature melancholy that's been setting in. I have three weeks left in New York. I'm giving it all I've got.

Let's Get Some Shoes

Three weeks until I leave New York. Three measly weeks. I've had three nightmares the past few nights about readjusting to Provo life. Bonafide, genuine nightmares, the kind where I wake up short of breath and scared for my life. One of them involves driving from Provo to Salt Lake, and I keep driving and driving, and when I finally get to Salt Lake it's still Provo.

Tonight I went to Bryant Park for the movie in the park. It was "To Sir, With Love." I haven't seen that film since Mr. Dewes' media class senior year. I was alone, but not really alone. I love being alone! There were these two dude-bros sitting behind me who kept saying, "Yeah dude, Audrey Hepburn is in this." They kept talking about Audrey Hepburn! I didn't have the heart to tell them she wasn't in that film. About a fourth of the way through the film, one said to the other, "Dude, if Audrey Hepburn isn't in the next scene, I'm leaving." Sure enough, she wasn't in the next scene. Sure enough, they left.

Today was a long day. I produced a lot of stories today (which means I coded them up for the pcmag website). I think six in all. It's pretty mind-numbing work. I'm still dead.

Syracuse was fun!! Palmyra was fun!!! I went to the Sacred Grove, to Joseph Smith's house, to the Palmyra temple, and to the Hill Cumorah pageant.

I am reading The Watchmen right now. It's a graphic novel. I really love it. Also, I'm earning lots of street cred at work for reading a graphic novel.

I want to write more, but I'd rather go to bed.

Wouldn't it be loverly

I know why people complain about New York summers now. Today is the most disgusting day I've ever lived through. It's 95 degrees at 70 percent humidity. It is, literally, like a sauna. I am, literally, in need of popsicles, but they will melt on the walk home.

I found out who Dave's dating: it's my friend Emily. She emailed me and told me. I am strangely okay with it. Not distressed, not jealous, not upset. I haven't had the urge to cry; I haven't even teared up. This is odd to me, the girl who cries at the most insignificant beauty, the girl who weeps at the symphony, the girl who cries as a means of relieving stress. It's made me realize that I really didn't like him as much as I thought I did. I was so emotionally involved that I kidded myself into thinking I adored him. There are a lot of things about him I like--a lot--but heck, I was rarely myself around him, at least not the side of myself I consider my best side. He didn't bring that out in me. It never would've worked is what I'm trying to say, and any residual melancholy I feel isn't so much over losing him--it's over not having found anyone better.

Montauk was a blast. A serious blast. We saw Jay-Z in the Hamptons. My skin is so sunburned, I feel like I'm going to morph (Animorphs!) into an alligator. My legs are covered in welts from mosquito bites. My luscious lips are cracked and tend toward bleeding (though they haven't actually bled yet). But I love it all. I love feeling. I love being uncomfortable. I love knowing I am alive.

When I was at Fairway a few weeks ago (for those of you who don't know, Fairway is a posh grocer here in Manhattan), I accidentally bought No Sodium bread. Not just Low Sodium, we're talking ZERO sodium. And it was also $3.00. Rather than throwing away twelve perfectly good sandwiches, I've slowly been consuming this tasteless brown matter, sometimes sprinkling a little salt directly on the bread to make it more palatable. I will not make this mistake again.

My editor, Laarni, asked me today if I would cover the launch of Guitar Hero 3. Would I?! Anyone who knows me well knows that I can't get enough of that game. My records on all my friend's memory cards proves it. So yes. Come July 26 I will meet my greatest weakness face to face: it--new and improved, me--out of practice and fingers out of shape. Let's hope I can rock it still. Hopefully I'll get some cool RedOctane swag too.

My band may get back together this fall. You see, my beautiful friend Barbie is moving back to Utah! She got a job as the lead designer for the Salt Lake Tribune, quite an accomplishment for a barely graduated college student. So luckily I will have her back this fall. Wonderful!

PS I am so in love with love.

I don't wanna be defeated.

I'm still doing the shuffle thing. I'm on song 677.

Work is going really well. They're using my web stories in the print version. They're trusting me with editing (meaning cutting, like actually altering the text as I see fit) the print version. It's really cool. I am flattered. I am also grateful to be a good writer and that I was blessed with this talent, because I really like doing it, be it tech writing, criticism, or blogging. Blogging is my favorite though. Or writing little vignettes about my thoughts and experiences.

When I am truly happy, I discover little insights. I must be truly happy right now, because I find a few insights each day. This morning, it was that I must've been a punk rocker in a past life. I say this because since I've been doing my iPod shuffle thing, my heart noticeably skips a beat when a Mission of Burma song comes on, or when a Wipers song starts, or when I hear the rip-rockin' chords of a Buzzcocks tune. I truly was born in the wrong era, but it's probably better I was born in this era when no good punk rock is being made so I don't become some junkie.

I'm excited for my Super 8 class this fall. I have a lot of ideas for what I want to do, both shots and narration. Every shot I think of involves shooting into the sun, into its amber-colored tentacles. I love shooting into the sun. It can be tricky, but with some practice I think I'll get it right. It creates such an ethereal tone and instantly enlivens whatever your subject is. I love it. Some of my favorite photos I've taken were of JR on the Shandy Hall roof last fall. Shot into the sun at sunset, used a fill flash to light him. They're pretty cool.

Now I'm on song 682. "Bed For the Scraping" by Fugazi off Red Medicine.

Oh you know, just living the dream.

Thirty hours until I leave for Montauk. Meet me in Montauk.

Today I edited a bunch of stories at work. The em dash is overused.

Tonight I am tired. I had good things to write, things about the subway and about how lovely people are, but I am too tired. Well, I'll write a little.

Today I left work and decided to go to SoHo, only I didn't end up going to SoHo. I walked down Park Avenue, from 28th to 14th, to Union Square. I couldn't help but be in love with everyone who walked by. Everyone I passed was just. So. Beautiful. They seemed to smile, even if they weren't really. They were magical. I feel this way a lot though. This time was no more special than any other except for the fact that it happened today. It will probably happen tomorrow too.

Did you know my blog is still on west coast/pacific time? I've never changed it. But I did leave my heart in San Francisco when I first moved to Provo (four years ago), so it's only fitting.

Five weeks left in New York. I think I will be ready to leave Provo come December after all. I'm thinking maybe I'll move to the beach. Maybe I can convince John-Ross to move to Italy with me when he's done with school. (He would have to be my mouthpiece since I can only speak opera lyrics that sing about love and heartache. Then again, I may be able to win a few Italian hearts that way). Maybe I'll join the Peace Corps. Maybe I'll move to the forest so I can meditate all day, every day, and pick up tai chi again. I was happier when I did tai chi.

Why did the Beatles put children's voices in "Across the Universe"? Maybe they thought the kids sounded like angels. I think they sound like gross.

Observations on the Subway: Brooklyn to Manhattan, 1 am to 2:30 am

• boyfriend feeling up girlfriend directly across from me on the Q. I was repulsed. I switched cars.
• child screaming from DeKalb to wherever...Brooklyn to halfway through Manhattan
• Riding backward on the subway is my favorite. The motions are contradictory. I'm facing the past, but the future comes nonetheless. Symbolic of my current state.
• The graffiti on the Brooklyn side is much better than the graffiti on the Manhattan side. One might expect this. I found a secret subway station off the Q. I have no clue where to find it again. The Ninja Turtles probably live there.
• I fall in love with a different man every time I ride the subway. Last night it was a boy with wavy brown hair, layered surfer-style to his shoulders, grey carpenter pants, a darling grin, green Crocs, stained t-shirt, olive skin. He was foreign. He was smiling at me.
• Black men check me out more than men from any other race. I think that's why I like Brooklyn so much. I feel sexy there. Manhattan is only fruitful for skinny white girls. I think black men are probably led on my buxom front side, but disappointed by my lack of a ba-donk-a-donk rear.
• Most black women I interact with here call me "Baby" or "Babe." If anyone else called me this, I would find it condescending. Otherwise, it's oddly endearing.
• There are a few different guys I wouldn't mind dating, but I don't think they know I exist. Or maybe they do, but they don't know I'm a girl. Either way, New York needs to step it up.
• The highest compliment ever paid to me was by my mom's cousin Janet. It was late August in Salem, Oregon. We were at my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary. Janet had had a few glasses of wine. She was neither drunk nor tipsy, sober nor stable. She cam e over to me toward the end of the party, glass of champagne in hand. "Lisa," she said, "you have a light about you. It's a light a know well. It's the light your mother has. Your eyes sparkle. Your smile lights up the room. It's uncanny how much you look like your mother when she was your age. I feel like I'm in the '70s again, looking at your mother. You have the same air and the same energy." My mother is the best woman I know, next to Grandma Betty, with John-Ross' mother closing in the rear. How lucky I am to have them in my life. This is my greatest goal--to be one of these women.
• Dave is already dating a new girl. I feel very meaningless.
  

It's a beautiful world.

Humans are 95 percent similar. We're all composed of the same parts. We have the same organs, the same emotions, the same general abilities. We are hardly as unique as we think we are. Black, white, Asian, Dominican, rich, poor, stuck-up, humble. That five percent difference accounts for practically nothing, yet somehow that's where we place all the emphasis. That five percent difference is why people are racist, why there are hair salons specifically for black women, why Asians have narrow eyes, why my last name wreaks of bratwurst. That five percent difference is what breeds the bulk of the hatred infesting the world.

This morning on the subway, a homeless man started his schpiel about how he was hungry and all he wanted was some change for a coffee or warm sandwich. I hear this story at least once a day. My heart is mostly hardened to it. I kept my eyes in my book (The Book of Mormon, ironically) and casually glanced at those better than I who gave him some change, a dollar, anything. We passed 50th, arrived at 42nd Times Square. The homeless man turned to a yuppie white guy, garbed in Lands End, and asked, "This is Times Square right?" Yuppie guy ignored the homeless man. He repeated, "Is this Times Square?"

Yuppie man knew full well that homeless guy was talking to him, yet he still straight up ignored him. Yuppie guy turned to leave, still fully avoiding homeless guy, and homeless guy yells, "F*** you, man." It was the only fitting thing to say, I suppose, and it was deserved.

It's that darn five percent.

Let me count the ways.

New York is great.

GREAT!

Yesterday I helped Trent and Phil and Joe move from my house in north Manhattan to their house in Brooklyn. It took us...TWO AND A HALF HOURS TO GET THERE! I couldn't believe it. It was ridiculous. First, the A only ran to 4th street, so we had to switch to the D. Then we had to switch to the Q. It was the pits. But luckily, they live right next to Prospect Park, so I spent much of the afternoon napping and exploring that gorgeous, lovely park.

Last night was the best! We went to my friend Adeline's birthday party. Addie was an exchange student from France who stayed with my family eight years ago, and now she works for a French company in New York. I have never wanted to drink wine so badly in my life. She had a huge spread of bread and cheese (Oh, the cheese! It was so delicious) and a counter with probably fifteen different wines. We (me, Trent and Phil) were the only native English speakers -- as well as the only non-imbibers -- at the party. Addie lovingly remembered that some Mormons don't drink caffeine, so she got me caffeine free Diet Coke! Everyone else was French, and SO COOL! There was this one guy Charles (Trent and Phil thought he said his name was Jazz) who was very obviously the self-appointed life of the party. This kid was rattling off in French alllllllllll night, and he'd pull one of those "I'm talking loudly is everyone watching me" routines where he'd look around and make sure all eyes were on him. He was great. But France! My love is renewed; my anger at myself for letting my French slip is intensified. I hardly understood anything last night, granted they were all inebriated and talking a mile a minute. But! France!

Today I went to church. It was a great day. A GREAT day. A boy I once had a purely physical relationship with is getting married. Good for him! I don't know the girl, but I pray they'll be very happy. I met many wonderful people, including a girl named Sara who's 29 and moved to New York a year ago after working for a designer lady in Boise, and now Sara goes to Pratt and she's interning with Steinway! Like Steinway pianos! She said I can come play piano there anytime I want to! We exchanged numbers so we can be friends. After church, Chris, Yancy and Lacey came over to my house for a short while, and I heard Yancy's ring tone (DRAGONFORCE!! I heard his phone ring and I actually looked around for Rory!) before we all trekked back to Fort Tryon Park for this boy Collin's birthday party. It was so fun! Megan had her Polaroid and we took photos. She also had her baseball mits, so we played catch. Anne made delicious cupcakes and cake, and she brought games like "Stick the butterfly on Curious George," which bears a striking resemblance to Pin the Tail on the Donkey minus the concise name, and we wore party hats, and flew a kite, and blew bubbles, and later I ran along a rock wall that had a 20 or 30 foot drop down one side. Luckily Yancy held my hand for comfort, and Megan took an amazing photo of it. Everyone walking by was jealous. I would've been too. It was a marvelous evening. The weather was perfect. The mood was perfect. Everything was perfect. Also, Fort Tryon is my most favorite park in Manhattan, if not all of New York City. It is gorgeous. Windy, overgrown, mysterious, enchanting. I will return there oft.

Now I'm at home listening to the Beatles. Maybe I'll update my ipod. I'm still doing the shuffle thing. I'm on song 378 out of 5,150. I'm doing pretty well, eh?

The moral of the story is that New York is a lot of fun, and I will miss it come August 9.

This week for the 4th of July I'm seeing the New Pornographers for free, watching the Macy*s fireworks, and then this weekend I'm going camping in Montauk, meet me in Montauk.

My life is like, so shoes.

Love (truly),
Lisa

Not For All The Tea In China

I've realized I'm noticeably more sad in the morning than the evening. I'm not sure why. Strange, eh?

Today I'm working from home. People at my work work from home all the time. I often wonder if they're actually working or if they're doing what I'm doing, which is working while watching movies. Oh and blogging, but I already blog at work anyway.

New York in the summertime is gross. Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise. I'm not going to waste time describing it. Just know it's gross and that dry heat is where it's at.

I've been thinking a lot lately about growing up, about what I should do when I finish school in December. I could stay in school another semester, I could work for a little while and go to grad school in the fall. I could go back to New York and work, or go to Europe and work, or move home to San Francisco and work. Also, I could stay in Utah and work, although I'd move to Salt Lake City. Or I could still serve a mission.

But the real dilemma is this: Do I want to be someone or do I want to be mediocre? I feel that if I move back home, I'll be taking the easy way out. I could work a cool job in San Francisco, but it probably wouldn't be with the BBC. If I moved to New York I'd be unhappy because I have to take the subway everywhere. If I moved to London or Paris, of course I'd be happy and doing something with my life--I'd be in Europe!

Do you see my predicament? I need to detach myself from that mindset, that I have to be somewhere other than a place I know to be somebody. I'll go where I should go, I guess.

Here's a personal revelation. My friends Trent and Phil and Joe have been staying with me the past few days since their sublet doesn't start til tomorrow. I've noticed though that I really like having a man around. Like REALLY. It feels natural. It feels right. It feels...scary. I'm not sure what it means, but I think it mostly just means I like having a man around. Nothing more. I think it also means I miss Dave, but my life is already less stressful not talking to him. I let myself get too stressed out with him. It wasn't good. This time not talking will be good.

Also, his myspace profile says he's from Bourgeois Bohemia. I've always wondered what this was, so I finally looked it up yesterday. The definition of the term bourgeois bohemians follows: "Often of the corporate upper-middle to upper class, they rarely oppose mainstream society, claim highly tolerant views of others, buy lots of expensive and exotic items, and believe American society to be meritocratic."

Too bad Dave's so cool.

Off to work!

I'm so tame in my old age.

I have six weeks left in New York starting today. Six weeks minus two hours from the time I started typing this.

I am not going to take my iPod off shuffle until I leave (This is a goal I will not complete). I'm on song 224 out of 5,150.

Tomorrow the iPhone comes out. Everyone at work is freaking out.

This weekend I am helping Trent, Joe and Phil move to their sublet Brooklyn. Then we are going to the beach so we're not so white (except for Phil because he's Asian). Then my friend Addie, who once stayed with my family as a French exchange student, is turning 26, and I'm going to her party which will probably be full of French people. She lives in Park Slope. It will be a day full of Brooklyn.

Wednesday is the 4th of July. We are seeing the New Pornographers for free. The Macy's fireworks are that night. They light over one million pounds of explosives. Anyone who knows me knows I am overjoyed with this prospect.

Friday the 6th, Fujiya & Miyagi and Ulrich Schnauss play for free.

Saturday morning I'm leaving in a 15-passenger van with 9 or 10 friends for Montauk where I will be camping on the beach until Sunday night. Meet me in Montauk.

The next Friday night I'm taking the train to Syracuse to see Marcus. I get to sit in the dining car and lounge, which must mean I have to wear a black sequined dress, white gloves that make me a modest woman, and a feathery hat. That night we're going camping near some waterfalls. The next day we're going to Palmyra for pageant. We're driving back to NYC the next night.

The weekend after that is Trent's birthday. He wants to go to Atlantic City. Maybe we will.

The weekend after that Sonic Youth plays in Brooklyn and Lani comes to town.

The weekend after that is my last weekend in New York.

The Tuesday after that is my last day of work, and I fly home Thursday.

I leave on my road trip home a few days after that. I'm going to ride bikes with my dad in Yosemite and go camping with my dog Kimba. (Phoebe could come too I guess, but she's small and doesn't like walking, so when she gets tired she just plops in the middle of the trail). I'm going to go to the beach. I'm going to do nothing. When I'm sick of being home (which is never possible) I'm going to drive down Highway 1 to LA where I'll visit Kevin and Cameron. Then I'll drive back to Utah.

My birthday is the 25th. I'll be 22. I'm having a Backyard Birthday Bash. More information to come.

I move back into my lovely home the 26th and 27th. School starts the 4th.

I've turned into a planner, you see.

Uncool Fool Can't Wait to Go Back to School

The worst part about life is waiting. Waiting until I'm tired enough to go to bed. Waiting until I become cool. Waiting for people to make decisions you know they should make. Waiting for the fiesta below my window to stop. Waiting to go back to Provo (from there I will be waiting to go where?)

I just watched Almost Famous. I don't know how I'd never seen that movie before. It basically affirmed for me what my parent's friends have told me for years: That I was born in the wrong decade. Here I am, almost 22, and my preferred listening format is vinyl. Rolling Stone is run by the man now (although the film purports it was back then too), and who tours on buses anymore? That age is over. But Lester Bangs said something interesting in that film. He said, "I'm always home. I'm uncool." Sometimes I feel this way, but I'm not always home so maybe it's not true.

I made a big decision last week. It was to stop talking to someone very important to me, at least for the rest of the summer. That was Tuesday night. The only day I haven't cried was Friday, but I am a born-again crier (I never used to cry until last August when I had an emotional and spiritual rebirth). The emotional repercussions vary. Most of the time I'm fine. I don't think I'm fine at all when I sleep, because he's been in my dreams every night since then. A) I never remember my dreams except until last Tuesday night, and B) I rarely have people in my dreams.

Josh came to visit this weekend. We saw a man sitting in a trashcan at Coney Island. He was serious about it.

I've lived in my new apartment since Wednesday and I haven't unpacked yet. I have six weeks left in New York, but all I can think about is August when I have 25 whole days to do nothing. It's not enough days. But I won't unpack. I guess I think it'll feel like I'm just on vacation if I don't unpack, like I just got here and I'm going right home. Nostalgia has always been a horrible disease to me. I am one of those people who should take a clue from Cinema Paradiso (great film if you haven't seen it) and never go home.

(One week left in June, four-and-a-half in July, one-and-a-half in August).

I have really great parents and really great friends.

(I think in parentheses).

I'm increasingly convinced that I will suffer from depression my entire life. Not severe depression, but mild after thoughts from when I was severely depressed a few years ago. It will surface at inopportune times, like while I'm making love once I'm married (One time it hit while I was making out with this boy a few summers ago. Luckily he loved me, so he only comforted me), or when I move to new places. I'm fairly sure I'll suffer from postpartum depression when I have kids (all the more reason to continue my plans to adopt), and despite my beliefs on the afterlife, I'll miss my parents, once they die, profusely. I don't think I'm special in any of this. Everyone goes through these things. Everyone has a hard time being away from the people they love. Everyone has had their heart broken. Everybody hurts, sometimes. (Yes! I did that thing).

But really. Since I've been back from California (I was only there for five days, for crying out loud), I've had a pain in my heart. I can't shake it. I'm on the verge of tears half the time, and I've started counting the weeks til I leave again. I did this when I first arrived in New York, but it stopped altogether probably two weeks afterward. I'm counting on that again. I don't like being unhappy in New York. I don't like being unhappy ever.

Today after my walk and nap in Central Park, I walked down 72nd to purchase a cupcake at my favorite cupcakery, Buttercup (it became my favorite today). A few storefronts down from Buttercup was a young girl, probably ten, who looked a lot like my old neighbor and best friend Jenny Wille when she was that age. The girl was playing some very sad melodies on her very sad-looking violin, with a pitiful glittered sign balancing precariously in her violin case. I had to hit the perfect angle because of all the glitter, but it read, "HELP PRESERVE THE RAINFOREST" in those horrible block letters all children are enamored with. (Block letters and bubble letters). Perhaps it was because I was already emotional, but my sunglass-covered eyes filled with tears as I placed a dollar deep in her violin case. There are few things as touching to me as 1: children being sincere, 2: people loving the Earth, 3: music, and 4: a sincere child playing a musical instrument on behalf of the Earth.

Today I found Gramercy Park near my work. It is so gorgeous, but you have to have a key to get inside. What good is a beautiful thing if people can't enjoy it, or if only rich people can enjoy it? Don't they enjoy enough already?

Last night I saw the film "Let's Get Lost," a documentary made in 1987 about Chet Baker. He is a different person to me now. Then I met up with my old friend Lauren from high school. She is so great. I really like that girl.

I have to go now. I want to finish writing, but I'll have to do it later.

Bye Bye Bye

The further I venture into adulthood, the more I realize boredom maximizes whatever personal problem I'm currently having.

For example, my last blog post I stressed about a guy. Warranted stressing, maybe, but being home was really the only thing that initiated it. Since I've been back, I'm completely okay about it. Everything I said: Nullified. We are just friends, after all. (But are we?)

Today I have a softball tournament instead of work. Sadly, I wore my cute new flats and not my scrubby old sneakers, automatically demoting myself to the position of heckler/Uno player.

Until going home this weekend, I can't remember the last time I was bored. I've developed a built-in time killer, i.e. looking for split ends on my hair. It's a horrible habit. It's like biting my nails. I've noticed, however, that I unconsciously start looking for split ends when I hang out with this certain person here in NY. It's not that bad though. I'm so busy, all the time, that being bored is a welcome diversion.

I could've written that much more eloquently.

I was hoping to find a salvation.

I have a slight hole in my heart today. I had the greatest day today. I went to SF and met up with my friend Matt. What a delight, this Matt is. We went to In N Out Burger. We went to the Sutro Bath ruins, my favorite spot in the entire city. We went to Ocean Beach. Then he drove me home. It was a delightful day, the best I can remember in ages. There hasn't been a single day, perhaps not even a single moment in New York that topped my day.

But then I came home. My mom wondered why I couldn't date someone like Matt because he is handsome and with it and has never veered too far from his beliefs. We went to my grandma's house which my aunt and uncle are currently preparing to sell. We laughed at a pair of shoes Papa altered: he must've needed to be three inches taller for a project, so he took a pair of Reeboks and nailed the soles to three-inch tall blocks of wood.

Then I got online and remembered someone who's supposed to miss me and who I'm supposed to miss. Sometimes I just don't know. I think, "You should just move on. Things would never really work out. It would be a potentially tumultuous life." Friends tell me, "You are too good for that. Don't sell yourself short." I'm blinded by potential. The highs are so high and the lows are so low. When really, the highs are not that high and the lows are too low. Maybe it's the distance. Maybe it's the fact I feign satisfaction in the present while hoping for future satisfaction that only taunts my heart and skews my logic and confuses my prayers, because really things would be so great if only. Maybe it's that a person cannot possibly love another when they hate themself. Maybe it's the fact we haven't heard the other's voice in a week.

I will always be second rate compared to her.

I'm going to chalk it up to fatigue. I'm jetlagged, my dogs wake me up at 7 am with their slobbers and affections, and my parents' blind racism and ignorant political statements strain me emotionally.

I have this fear that grows more intense each time I visit my parents. I'm fairly sure they won't like who I marry. At least, they won't have much in common with him. But I'm so afraid he and I will become ostracized from my family. That our opinions, which surely will conflict with theirs, will cause polarization between us. Last night we were at Emil's, our family restaurant for four generations. It was 10 pm, nearing closing time, and the service was understandably slow despite the clientele lag in the eatery. My uncle made a crack, "I'll bet the immigration officer came and cleared out the kitchen." "Haha," my other uncle chimed in. "Vamanos, muchachos!" My parents laughed heartily. Behind them was a Hispanic man, no doubt from Mexico, probably on his third job of the day, bussing a recently vacated table. He looked up when he heard this comment, watching them cackle in ignorance. I turned to my brother Michael, my one comisserator, and told him the sequence of events. He bowed his head in residual embarrassment.

Yesterday at Costco, my mom told me she didn't think my dad would like me getting the Planet Earth series on DVD for my birthday. I described the series to her, and she said, "I don't know. It sounds too Al Gore-ish."

"Tell her God's creation is not Al Gore-ish." That's what he said. How can I move on from someone who can whip that out?

I am so confused these days, but I've asked for too much help from the place I receive the most of it, without listening to His advice. My prayers are nullified by my stubborness.

Being in San Francisco today, at my favorite spot in the whole world, taught me something. New York and I speak the same language, but we speak two different dialects. I grew up speaking Bay Arean. San Franciscan and Berkeleyan. I can learn New York's language, but I'll never be a native speaker.

I have nine weeks left.

Wild is the Wind

Well, I'm a little bummed right now. I'm in DC visiting a friend this weekend. It's been fun, despite the fact I had my first dose of east coast heat. Yesterday we explored downtown DC. Once again, it was fun, but my friend's girlfriend can be whiny and fussy, and he caters to her every desire. So pathetic. I have no tolerance for this type of woman. Her type is the reason I tend to avoid my sex unless I'm related to them. But I saw lots of cops wearing shorts. I saw a lot of old stone buildings. I saw a lot of Indian people. I always saw a lot of Smithsonians.

My friends in New York are going to the beach tomorrow. Lame. Sure, I'm going to the Holocaust Museum and the National Arboretum, but they're going to the BEACH! Memorial Day is about two things: BBQs and beaches. I did the former today, and it's going to be weeks before they go to the beach again.

Second whine from me. There's a booze cruise for all the LDS singles in my area this weekend. I'm torn. Do I go to a free concert by rock and roll legend Roky Erickson, an event that wreaks of cool even on paper, or do I go to a 3-hour long linger longer/boat cruise that will cost me $20 and force me to be with a bunch of 20-somethings with no means of escape save the passage of time?

All in all, I can't wait to get back to New York. I'm glad I came to DC since I've never been here, and it turns out Bob's moving to Indianapolis tomorrow (Bob's my friend who lives here), but I feel like I'm missing out on EVERYTHING! Not true. I felt the same way when I left Provo. I'm going home for five days in a week-and-a-half; I'm sure I'll feel the same way then too.

Screw leaving New York! I love it too much.

a resurrection

In less than a week, I will reach my one month anniversary of being in New York. However, I did not start falling in love with New York until nearly two weeks after I arrived, May 12. It was a wonderful day. We took the afternoon train to SoHo. I bought a necklace that has a fish on it. I was wearing a new dress. It started raining. We got lost. We got soaked. Then, at the end of the night when I was tired and suffering sugar withdrawals, I heard a man in the subway playing the title track from The Umbrellas of Cherbourg on his accordion.

My heart lept across the platform, my aorta entertwining with the luscious meanderings of that sad song.

Thus was the beginning of my love affair.

My desire has only heightened since. Last week I found one of my favorite albums of all time, "Chet Baker Sings," on vinyl in the Village. Yesterday I went to what I thought would be a hipster/indie show, only it ended up being the most svelte experimental jazz in all of Manhattan. Today I went to The Daily Show and Al Gore was the guest. Afterward, we went and lounged in Central Park, listening to the songs the air sings as frisbees glide through it and the snapping fingers of the grass as barefoot children run through it.

I know why Paul Simon writes so many songs about New York now. Bodegas. Stoops. Diamonds. I know why Woody Allen films so many films in New York now. Dixieland. Village. Soon-Yi. (Just kidding).

New York is the best lover I've ever known. Patient, understanding, ready to listen, vibrant. I am attached.

revelation for my readers

I wasn't sure if I wanted to delete this blog or start a new one to talk about all my New York happenings. I've been working on this one since high school, you see. I never really told anyone about it though.

Things have changed. There's a lot of stuff in here I'm not proud of, and a lot I wish I hadn't wrote and wish you wouldn't read. Nevertheless, I am unashamed. Please, read this blog. I'm going to start writing in it again. Read my old entries though. Get to know me. Thank you.

Gosh. I read back on my more recent posts and moan. I can't believe I was so pathetic to be that torn up over a guy.

Anyway, life is going fine. I decided to graduate in April, right on schedule at four years. I'm heading to New York to intern with Hachette Filipacchi, then who knows what.

I'm struggling with something though. I'm moving out of my house, as we speak, and I haven't told my roommate yet. My name's not on the lease, I'm only subletting, so I can leave with no remedial consequence. But I feel awful. I've known for almost a month, but I haven't told her. I'm horrible.

Back to packing...

my life story

I think you know your life sucks when you come home on a Friday night, and no one calls you to hang out. The catch is: you don't call anyone either.

Really, this is me. This is what I do most weekends and weeknights. Whether I have no desire to call anyone or lack the confidence is of no importance. I have ten people I could call right now who would want to hang out, but I can't figure out why I don't just call them. Things were much easier when I lived with my best friend and we could stay home and be happy as clams. Now that I don't live with my best friend (I basically live alone; my roommate is never here), I find I am discontent in staying home by myself, yet do nothing to change it. Luckily I don't complain about my version of loneliness to anyone; I keep it to myself and resolve to change it but do nothing.

And that is the crux of human discontent -- one sees what needs to be changed yet makes no attempt to change it.

The end. Have a good weekend.

The Way I Feel Inside

I have led two, passionless years of existence. I loved Sloan. I loved him in a way that redefined love. I am home for Thanksgiving, I am discontent, I am restless. I am sick of nothing being good enough.

My ex-boyfriend from the summer, Ryan, called me tonight. What do I do with that? I don't care about you like that anymore. You loved me and I did not love you. I am sorry because I don't think we can ever be friends, unless you are already over me and in that case you were not in love with me. You have life in you, incredibly passionate. I am sick of you not being good enough.

And Richard who I am "pseudo-dating" in Provo. Why can't I be like you? You don't care about anything. Politics, music, film--you like everything except for country and rap. You have no political affiliation, no passion. You are the most content man I've ever met.

I am sick of no one being good enough to take his place.

I am ready to love. Really, really ready. I want someone good enough to make me forget Sloan even exists. I want to remember how I felt and I want someone to blow that out of the water. I want to meet you and your parents and not look back. I am crying. I am alone.

let's have a war

I'm trying to find inspiration for my personal narrative, rough draft due tomorrow, and I want it to be good. Damn good. I just read through a bunch of old blogs to find inspiration and Whoa Man. WHOA. So crazy to see the difference in my mood between October 2003 to April 2004. It's a long roadtrip of happiness until January '04 and then CRASH!, I've driven past the Cliff House and into the ocean. I really loved that guy, that Sloan. It's good to remember once in awhile so I don't forget how to, you know? I mean I've cared about people since then, but nothing like that, not even close. In fact I ended a relationship this summer because of that, because even though he was good it was so far from Sloan that it wasn't even worth it to me. Now I don't even talk to summer guy anymore and I broke his heart and I hate myself for it. But if love's not there, there is no point in staying. I still have no idea what to write about. Rick thinks I should write about our camping trip a few weekends ago; I'm afraid it's cliche. "I love my friends. They are sooooooooo great. We do stuff together all the time. For example, one time Rick, Capree and I went camping up the canyon. It was so fun because we made s'mores and it rained and we picked wildflowers and peed in the grass." Nuh uh man. No freaking way. It is still too fresh to have learned anything from it other than I have two lifelong friends because of it. That is all. I need to start writing it nowwwwwwwww. I <3>

looks like I'm on the right path...

Outgoing (E) 65.71% Withdrawn (I) 34.29% Imaginative (N) 60% Realistic (S) 40% Emotional (F) 62.07% Intellectual (T) 37.93% Improvised (P) 65.71% Organized (J) 34.29% Your type is: ENFP You are an Inspirer, possible professions include - conference planner, speech pathologist, HR development trainer, ombudsman, clergy, journalist, newscaster, career counselor, housing director, character actor, marketing consultant, musician/composer, artist, information-graphics designer, human resource manager, merchandise planner, advertising account manager, dietitian/nutritionist, speech pathologist, massage therapist, editor/art director.

Take Free Career Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Happy

Yeah, so what? I'm happy. I've been happy for awhile.

Things are good. Friendships are great. I am going to miss my friends so much this summer, everyone. Especially the Midnight Movie gang and Colin. Especially the "real" people.

I am working as a nanny this summer for a family of two kids although I'll mainly only take care of the younger one who is 14 months old. I am excited. It could potentially be boring, but I think I'll be okay. It is better than working in a bank, better than the parking booth, maybe better than the Florist but I doubt it because few things beat working with fresh and exotic flowers all day.

I have so much I want to talk about and so much I need to say but I don't know how to do it. There's so much I want to know but Patience wants me to wait.

I sold my housing contract for spring/summer. Next year my house has a porch and I am so excited to perch on the porch and have porch pizza parties. yay.

okay i am working on a final and i should really go finish it now.

<3>

i'm discontent

it's been a long time since i haven't used a song title as my blog entry title.

i'm randomly upset because of discontention. okay? i'm going home in less than two weeks. no friends. no fun. i am, however, looking forward to meeting new people. but i don't want to have to prove myself to anyone. i just want to be accepted without a fight, without an initiation.

today i saw amanda. things are going haywire with her family. i think i was supposed to see her because she told me she felt the same way. way to point out the obvious, lisa.

i'm going to be a writer and i don't think i'm good.

my band's first show was saturday night. it went really well. www.myspace.com/nananoir
check us out.

does anyone read this anymore?

if anyone still reads this, email me at lisaruef@gmail.com. thanks. i'm not sure anyone does, and if no one does, that's great. i need to vent.

tonight was so weird. sara and i hung out with patrick and his friend justin, who apparently thought it was a double date, patrick and me, sara and justin. i was in a great mood earlier because band practice had been good, i got a B on my comms test, excellent considering i studied half an hour and never did any reading for the class, and gosh it was just a good day. i've been in a really great mood all week despite an F on my physical science test yesterday and a $100 parking ticket last night. things have been great.

but i get so awkward around patrick. am i supposed to like him? people seem to think i am. and i'm not really even awkward; i'm just not comfortable yet or something. he listens to rob zombie. ROB FREAKING ZOMBIE. i am trying to be open-minded about it, but i just cannot like someone who likes Rob Zombie. i am morally against it. i feel like i am supposed to like patrick. i just can't do it. few sparks. he likes things on the bass that i loathe--weird little effects made with a pedal. i'm a purest. i need the bass and the bass only. we are too different to be compatible. i think part of it is being in a group with him. i notice i am fine when i'm alone with patrick but not in a group.

it is raining right now. praise Allah; i love the rain.

i got the new bonnie prince billy/matt sweeny album yesterday. it's rad. and thank you brady.

i've lost my passion. do you remember when i loved living so much that i loved everyone and everything and every moment of every day? i felt like that a little bit this week. i mean that was the time of my life, when i was uninhibited and didn't care about the scene and my mind was beautiful. friendships were pure and love was my drug. i don't feel that anymore really, but i want to. passion for people and exuberance for enlightenment. my spirit is dead and i want it back please.

maybe i'm not hanging with the right friends. maybe someone has taken all my love so there's nothing left for anyone else (this might be true). or maybe that person who took all my love killed it. maybe it's locked in his heart. i wish that were true, despite his selfishness. at any rate, i gave it to him and he didn't want it so now i'm second best and he can't even be my friend without freaking out. i wish we were better communicators and i hate being so perceptive.

i saw the ring two with patrick et al. don't see it. it was awful. luckily i didn't pay for it because patrick is a gentleman (was it a date?--i hope not).

provo is not real. i meet so few real people in provo. at least i've found some of them; some people long to find them but haven't found any.

this week's goal: love again. also, stay for all of church tomorrow.

star radio

A - AGE: 19-and-a-half
B - BAND LISTENING TO MOST RECENTLY: m83, the electronic tomato, my band (no name)
C - CELEBRITY CRUSH: David Bowie and John Cusack
D - DAD'S NAME: Charles
E - EASIEST PERSON(S) TO TALK TO: Celeste or Sara
F - FAVE BAND/SINGER: right now, me <3
G - GUMMY BEARS OR WORMS : Gummy Bears all the way
H - HOMETOWN: Walnut Creek, CA.
I - INSTRUMENT: bass, piano, vocals, guitar, sax.
K - KIDS: maybe in a few years, after i'm married
L - LONGEST CAR RIDE: Cali to Utah
M - MUM'S NAME: Jane
N - NUMBER OF FINGERS: ten
O - ONE WISH: equal distribution of the world's resources.
P - PHOBIA(S): the dark
Q - FAVORITE QUOTE: "I realized by using the high notes of the chords as a melodic line, and by the right harmonic progression, I could play what I heard inside me. That's when I was born." --Charlie Parker
R - REASON TO SMILE: my doggie Kimba
S - SONG YOU LAST SANG: my song, it's called "Slugger"
T - TIME YOU WAKE UP: varies daily, generally around 10 a.m. weekdays
U - UNKNOWN FACT ABOUT ME : I love classic Volvos.
V - VEGETABLE YOU HATE : peas
W - WORST HABIT(S): finishing people's sentences when they lose their train of thought. it's a bad habit, but i generally finish them correctly because i'm FUNNY like that.
X - X-RAYS YOU'VE HAD: dentist and my wrist when i thought i broke it in 5th grade.
Y - YUMMY FOOD: Bajio, Thai Chili Garden, Thai Pepper, Demae, most things that involve chopsticks
Z - ZODIAC SIGN: Virgo

Kim Gordon and The Arthur Doyle Hand Cream

i am beside myself right now. i'm going off some medicine and it's driving me crazy with side effects. i'm dizzy, i'm happy, i'm sad, i'm everywhere and nowhere all at once.

i guess you could say colin and i had a "fight" on friday. it wasn't really a fight though. anyway, he got mad at me for something HE is ashamed for. it's complex and awful and emotionally daunting. now i remember why i've avoided relationships for the past year. being single is just easier.

that being said i have no idea what to do. do i call him? do i wait for him to call me? to i act like it didn't happen? do i talk to him about my FEELINGS? do i do nothing? am i overreacting?

okay. i smell like bleach. i love that smell. the band's new name might be "the moon behind the mountain." court and i thought of it the other night and i really like it and so does she. it was one of those breakthrough moments when you cry with delight because you've discovered something so beautiful. we almost cried tears.

if i could weep right now i would, but i am otherwise too different.

i have school at 9 a.m. tomorrow. damn.

things could be worse.

moonchild

today was a good day for the most part. i had class at 9 and 10, so i went, and then i came home and took a nap. i made a sonic youth mix for barbie. then i ran errands for awhile. i went to savers and got two blouses and a jacket. one of the blouses is black with these weird leather patches on the shoulders and it has shoulder pads. the jacket is red wool with bright gold buttons on the cuffs. tres chic.

tonight i celebrated my thursday with britt and court. we went to stan's and got shakes. i miss my old friends, like perry, celeste, hannah, and bianca. i miss them. i just realized that.

my dad sent me a picture of me holding kimba when she was a few weeks old today. i look so awful in the picture, like a whale. i'm huge. i hope i don't look like that still. i'm really paranoid about it now.

i wish i were beautiful.

the band--we're not long creve coeur. we're nameless right now. one of the songs i wrote for us, it's so good now. i can't stand it. it is better than i imagined it. so in 4 practices we've learned and perfected 4 songs. that's talent right thurr.

i need to study cos i have a midterm tomorrow for newswriting, but i might just go to bed.

i hate when i have great days but the nights bum me out.

p.s. patrick and i hung out the other night and it was fun. we played bass and talked. ok goodnite.

Dirty Boots

today i spent my day doing something really weird. colin and i went up to the salt lake city cemetery to find this gravestone which reads: "Victim of the Beast 666." unfortunately, we didn't find it today, but i know it's there. sorta. we were looking for it for three hours. i have never spent that much time straight in a graveyard before. this one's spooky too; it's endless. thousands and thousands of people. i found some of my relatives there. it was a fun day.

patrick gave me his number the other day...rad? yes. he is a cool dood. i am excited to hang out with him more.

i talked to perry twice this weekend, on the phone. friday was his birthday. i miss that kid so much. he's really come into his own as a writer, as a person. he's great.

the band! my band. i wrote two songs this weekend. they're hella rad. (did i already talk about this?) our first name was isadora, but today colin thought of creve coeur, which means "broken heart" in francais. i DIG it man.

hunter s. thompson killed himself last night. rest in peace.

i would totally write more but i'm on a short, meaning i don't know what else to say really. but BYU's art scene sucks.

So uh...last night was really fun because, uh...I made out with a boy I've liked for a long time and he's liked me for a long time and uh, yeah. That's about it. But we are staying just friends, which I am happy about.

Yeah so, I play bass in a band now. We're called Isadora; it'll prob change though.

And I knit allllllllll the time. I'm working on a scarf and it's almost done.

So life is good out here in Provo. I'm having fun for the most part. I am glad I changed my major.

I might enter a dance competition at BYU. I could totally win it with my styling moves.

Yeah I don't really have anything to say. You've forgotten I'm boring.

I got a 64% on my Comms 101 test I took this morning. Yesssss.

pine box

alright so i just re-read my last entry and i made it sound like i was in love with sloan still. for the record, i am most definitely not. i just miss being in love. that's what i meant.

okay. so things are going insanely well here. i switched my major to communications (either print or broadcast journalism) and i am psyched. my comms classes are so easy. it is the right choice, i am convinced. i will still probably minor in music...either that or visual art or film or advertising design...not sure yet.

next. i am playing bass like a mo fo now. it is rad. chris entrusted his bass to me while he's in hong kong for two years. ernie ball musicman babeh. talk about a beautiful instrument.

i am getting a mullet on tuesday. a hip mullet. it is gonna be hott.

this week is the sundance film festival up in park city. i hung out up there last night but only saw rider strong (shawn on boy meets world). i talked to him though and he was tyte.

went to vegas last weekend with lamia and jessica. so much fun. just a great trip.

so i've realized lately that i judge people too much. i really do. i used to smile so much and be so happy. i don't remember why i stopped doing that; just broke the habit or something. anyway, i'm starting again and i really feel super.

i've written some songs lately. i like 'em.

anyway...i'm out. much love and peace yizzo.

burgundy baroness.

staralfur

i tried to stop taking my medicine. now i'm really depressed so i'm going to start taking it again. and i'm going to the health center and demanding an appointment with a psychiatrist to get my prescription renewed. or an appointment with a doctor or something. i just need more.

i hate this year. i hate thinking of sloan and being so in love with him. i hate knowing that i only fall in love once a year and that i've already fallen in love with someone. i hate that everytime i fall in love it's over just as fast as it started.

i just watched "when harry met sally" and that's why i'm sad. and i'm sad because i am trying not to love someone right now. and then i think about loving and being loved back and i want it so badly. i miss it.

i miss perry. i wish i could talk to him right now but i can't and that's hard to swallow.

anyway i'm sure i'll be fine tomorrow. that's how it always is.

i'm listening to the stranglers

LAST PERSON WHO.
Slept in your bed: me but i've slept in someone else's bed
Saw you cry: umm maybe colin
You shared a drink with: n/a
You went to the movies with: sara and aarean
You went to the mall with: dave dawson <3
Yelled at you: tom or colin
Sent you an email: apple
HAVE YOU EVER...
Said "I Love You" and meant it?: yes.
Gotten in a fight with your pet: yeah Kimba's a real toughie, and my fish Flava Flav?? Don't even get me started.
Commited Suicide: been pretty close
Cut yourself: nope...
BEEN TO.
California: of course silly
Hawaii: 3 times
Mexico: nope
China: no
Canada: no
HAVE YOU EVER:.
Danced naked: yeah like every single day of my life
Dreamed something really crazy and then it happened the nextday: iono
Wish you were the opposite sex: only for cool clothes
Had an imaginary friend: yeah sort of.
Do you have a crush on someone: when do i not???
What book are you reading now: "The History of the World from Constantine to Constantinople" by Eusebius
WHATS YOUR....
Worst feeling in the world: being lonely
Future son's name: Ron Jeremy
Future daughter's name: Moonbeam
Do you sleep with a stuffed animal: no.
What's under your bed: shoes and paper and some cement blocks and a james dean poster
Favorite sport to watch: hockey
Siblings: yes.
Location: provo utah
College plans: i'm already there
Piercings/tattoos: the normal ones on the earlobes and one on my cartillage
EXTRA STUFF.
Do you drink: water and diet coke
Who are your best friends: britt, court, celeste, marissa, chris, eric, tom, holy crap i can't count all of them!!!
What are you most scared of: falling in love
What clothes do you sleep in: shorts and t-shirt..or none
Where do you want to get married: LDS temple
Who do you really hate: no one
Been in Love: yes, a couple times
Do you drive: like Dale Earnhardt
Do you have a job: no no no
Do you like being around people: mostly
Are you for world peace: uh huh
Are you a health freak: i'm healthy but not a freak
STUFF. Have you ever loved someone you had no chance with: no
Have you ever cried over something someone of the opposite sex did: yeah.
Do you have a "type" of person you always go after: umm sorta.
Want someone you don't have right now: yeah but we're pretty close
Are you lonely right now: rarely
Song that's stuck in your head a lot: "I'll Melt With You" by Modern English
Do you want to get married: yesh
Do you want kids: four-two adopted, two of my own
FAVORITE. Room in house: bathroom--hell if i know
Type(s) of music: jazz
Band/Group(s): right now sonic youth
Color: brown
Perfume or cologne: chanel coco mademoiselle
Month: april
Stone: dirt clod
Flower: i forget what it's called but it looks like a pinecone---helicona i think
IN THE LAST 48 HOURS, HAVE YOU....
Cried: no.
Bought something: yeah a new printer which ima take back anyway
Gotten sick: only to my stomach
Sang: at the top of my lungs
Said "I love you": yes
Wanted to tell someone you loved them: yes
Met someone: yes tyler he's so cute and jackie from texas
Missed someone: desperately
Hugged someone: yes
Kissed someone: only in my dreams

Gus the Mynah Bird

So uh...I'm listening to stereolab. rockin!

i have an infection in my mouth. it really hurts, ya see. i've been on a liquid diet for two days now maybe. it sucks. it won't get better even though i'm on antibiotics.

i'm going home two weeks from today for thanksgiving. yessss. i am so excited to see kimba. am i kidding? NO. i miss that pup like the dickens. whoa.

so school is really good. life is really good. everything is just really really good.

regan leaves next week on his mission. so does carl, but carl doesn't affect me as much since he lives in portland. but regan. well regan lives 15 minutes away in american fork and we are still a part of each other's lives. i am going to miss him insanely.

i feel bad since i never have anything to write. nothing worthwhile, anyway. remember last year when i would discourse forever about something? like love maybe, or friendship...

get this...eric, remember my best friend last year, eric? and remember that i was like freakin IN LOVE with him for awhile? well, last sunday we were hanging out, and he told me he was in love with me too! can you believe it? that whole time we were in love with each other but we were both too scared to do anything about it. that explains why he was so jealous when s-dawg came along. i always wondered why that was... i mean, wow. what a realization.

what else? well not much, i guess. i've decided to major in jazz. that's a new development. of course, i seem to change my major just about every two weeks, so we'll see how long this one lasts.

mainly, i'm just happy to be happy again, do you know? like i'm just grateful. that makes me happy i guess.

okay much love
<333
lisa.

Full Disclosure

So I am listening to fugazi. I haven't listened to them in hella days yo. like years. i guess i still dig 'em.

it's been raining practically nonstop for over a week now and i am totally feelin it. okay so at first i liked it because i hadn't seen rain since last fall, but then i didn't like it because i started feeling the grey skies drag. but then, then it went away for a day and i misssssssssssed it and now that it's back i'm awfully happy.

guess what i'm going to be for halloween! just guess! yay you got it! a geisha! i am going to the costume shop tomorrow to get makeup and then to the fabric store to get a red sash. i already have the kimono. yeah i'm way psyched!

this is just to say: i don't give a damn about the world series. it's great the sox are in it because i loooooooooove johnny damon--what a sexy beast!--, but that's the only reason why i like them. just to lay it out there...

so like....nothing is going down. i'm bored in provo. i'm thinking i will go to vegas next weekend to spice things up cos i'm seriously riding the wave of monotony. i'm such a talker though and probably won't go.

love of my life = matt hoiland, carl's bro. i mean what a musical genius! he can write any kind of song at the drop of a hat and has a great voice and rockin retro style and is really just a kool kat, just like carl.

i sent in my absentee ballot today. i felt so proud. teehee.

okay so i wish i had more to talk about but there's just really not much worth the time.

<3>

p.s. and my latest art piece was subconsciously reflective of how i feel about someone. it's a man and a woman in a cocoon. and see the thing is, now i'm thinking of soft grounding a leaf into a different plate and printing that on top of the cocoon plate so the leaf is almost acting like a veil, like it's hiding my feelings for this person, or maybe even preventing the relationship from developing, or something like that...you know what i mean? <3<3<3>

Hanging On A Star

The stinkiest girl I have ever smelled is sitting next to me right now. She hasn't washed her hair in at least two weeks, I'd say. I can't handle it. The smell is excruciating. I would move if there were other computers in this lab but unfortunately they're all taken. Tough it out, Lisa, you can do it.

So I really like this boy and he likes me. Yep. Maybe I'll tell more about it later.

But here's something funny. Me and this boy were just chillin last Friday, driving around and stuff, like 2:30 in the morning at this point, and all of the sudden we see a buffalo run out of the mountains right next to us! A buffalo man! It was so crazy. I freaked and we called the cops and they said, "Thanks. We've been looking for him all day..." How does a buffalo escape like that? weeeerd.

And now that girl's stench is so bad I can't handle it anymore so i'm bizzouncing.

<3