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.

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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.