The House of Miraculous Recovery

so i've been working, going to school, coughing, going on picnics, going out to dance nights, not working, gaining weight and listening to a lot of music. we have three cats and home life is more like a conversational bulldozer when one gets caught in the unfortunate crosshairs of a quick trip to the bathroom or doing homework on the couch. productivity is at a stand-still and my hands are aching for the pricks of embroidery needles while my eyes cry out for the strain of minute bead differentiation.

finally, though, eileen is back from mexico.
i'd appreciate if the rest of my friends could refrain from having surgery in foreign countries, please.
nothing makes me nervous anymore, i'm just really ready to go live in san francisco.
i'll be there by september, just you wait.

with all the drama of a new mother of a miracle baby, i give to you my gently used-to-new-ish cat, who is going by toby-the-cat until we can figure out a name he will recognize from his life with the awful people who left him locked in an abandoned apartment for five days but not associate with it. my first new-ish pet of any kind in over ten years! holy hell!

my cat got bands:

my cat stretches out.

my cat has seven fingers on each of his paws OPPOSABLE THUMBS.



my life is going awesome-ly, by the way. i really hope yours is too, i'll be back-reading in order to find out if it is or not very shortly. let's hope by the time i've caught up you've managed to make it as lovely as it should be. hey, ever notice how a lot of us on livejournal watched each other grow up sort of? and not just those of us to jump on board in junior high, all you bitches. hell, i've seen you get married and have little kids (and since you kids are amazing and the kind of people i feel SHOULD be breeding it excites rather than depresses me, so keep it up), i've heard what you really thought about the people you loved and the people who loved you. you have actually listened to me whine for over seven years now, and there's something really fucking awesome about all of it.

you'd never guess i was smoking weed and watching the oscars, would you?
more embarrassingly, i cried dead-sober at that let it out kleenex commercial? you know?
with the bald guy?

that dude could be my dad if my dad were less of a total douche.

and you can just shut-up.

ps in the interest of keeping up the picture theme, but with respect to dsl and dial-up users: CHRISTY BROUGHT ME A DOUGHNUT MAN THIS MORNING.
TINY PICTURE:

since we last spoke i've been driving my friends to parties. the end.
ps i have told them this is unacceptable. i usually spend these parties soberly walking around ducking my shy head in cornerns and waiting until they are all drunk enough that they don't notice me slipping out the door to go to the one place i will voluntarily go these days: safeway. i buy a chocolate milk and watermelon squares and sit on the hood of my car watching lightrails til it's time to go back and gather up my flock of intoxitarded goslings that i might spend the next three hours ushering them to 3 different afterparties where i spend more time in dark corners, drinking disgusting diet soda and ending the evening (if i'm lucky) alone, crashing to sleep at 5-6am, only to wake up &drive back downtown to take someone home from wherever their booty called, or perhaps drive them to work. More often than not i wake up in my clothes at 4pm, mascara streaked across my face and forty-seven missed calls from people, two of them interested in my company, forty from the same three people needing a ride, and five from my mom calling to check on me.

i really LIKE the people i know. i don't believe it's asking too much to spend some time with them that doesn't involve chugging whiskey and potentially even something interesting, productive, and (dear god, what?) FUN, like our old craft nights or painting parties, something more intellectually stimulating than small talk with people whose name is the most exciting thing i know about them. maybe it's over, i've lost all my babies to the party monster.

i need to get a job. now.
that is the only way to get anyone to stop treating me like a very shabby old doormat.
yelling does not work. i tried it already.

they are the sweetest girls in the whole entire world, though.
if they weren't they would have all gone the way of the buffalo (buffalo=jimmy hoffa) long before now.
whoa, what was that? i believe i heard that unfamiliar click of a spine rattling through my organ mass.


that said, i went to a party tonight.
actually managed to have fun until i spotted this:

the first winner of mtv's "so you wanna be a veejay?" contest,
presumably some heroin dealer's wet dream,
at the party, drunkenly swaying atop the washing machine, begging people not to leave the laundry room, a very nice camera dangling from his wobbly limbs.

eileen: that tall guy looks oddly familiar.
lisa: that's because you saw empire records once ten years ago.
eileen: good call.

these are what girls(/z?) who idolize jesse camp are like:


to quote someone familiar: "we gotta get outta this place, if it's the la-&ct..."

christy is here. she is oddly self-sufficient as compared to my other kindreds and wonderful (as usual).

on august 13th, 1961 a wall was erected down the middle of the city of berlin. the world was divided by a cold war, and the berlin wall was the most hated symbol of that divide...
(if only all my history courses had been directed by john cameron mitchell, i'd have a degree in the stuff by now.)

forty-six years to the day after the berlin wall went up, my thirteen year old kitty died of feline leukemia.
i've had her since the day she was born, and she was a skittish little squirrel who only had a truly lasting fondness for me and my mother. when i came back from college she pissed on all of my clothes because she was mad at having to share the attention from my mom, and then mike moved in and she loved me again and pissed on all of his clothes, which was much funnier. i bought her a fancy feast and some little furry mice to play with last night, and i sobbed like a baby in the cat food aisle at safeway.

what a disgustingly powerful sense of loss i have right now.
i'm ashamed to say that neither one of my grandparent's deaths had nearly this impact on me.
bye-bye little bear.

here comes the hypocrite train:
MY GOD, PEOPLE, DO YOU KNOW HOW BLOODY RARE IT IS TO FIND LIKE-MINDED PEOPLE IN A WORLD THIS LARGE? OR HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND SOMEONE TO ACTUALLY LOVE YOU, BE IT A FRIEND OR LOVER?

IT'S FUCKING DIFFICULT.
(that was the no-duh caboose of the hypocrite train.)

eileen is the only person with perhaps the exception of vladimir who has actually silently watched me self-destruct, offering nothing more than a shoulder or kind word if i needed it and- get this- NARY A JUDGEMENT, though much of the time my destruction was affecting her directly. eileen knows how to deal with me when i'm upset, eileen is one of maybe five people that helped me really remember that there's a bit of an enigma about me that is worth the attention of the ocassional passing soul and worth the love of absolutely incredible people that i seem to make it my mission to assemble in my patchwork heart. these people are so beautiful and awe-inspiring and oftentimes so bogged down in the daily sludge one has to go through to keep a little hope in their eyes that they can't recognize that they are the only reasons i am still alive and joyful about it.

heather in ohio.
ryan adrift.
sarah and godard movies at tower,
jenny and all her sad and lovely pictures.
y'all qualify for this category.

i'm so sorry if for any reason you have ever felt like you didn't mean the whole world to me. if this sounds melodramatic, put it in the context of the bits of my personality that you know (aka "LIFE IS DRAMATIC! LOOK AT THAT GODDAMN SUNSET AND YOU JUST TRY NOT TO LET IT MAKE YOU THINK ABOUT BENEVOLENT FORCES WE'RE ALL REALLY HAPPY TO LET STAY UNKNOWN BECAUSE THAT KEEPS ITS MEANING TO ONLY LOVE INSTEAD OF HATING ANYBODY, WHICH WE CAN'T BECAUSE THAT SUNSET IS SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL."etc).

two weeks ago i saw my father, whom i have not seen in ten years. he is an old man now and keeps a photo of me, aged 8, on his desk. he's had a stroke and shake-shake-shakily hands me things from a combination of the aforementioned and thirty years of alcohol abuse. i spent two days after the visit in my bed, and i woke up okay.

i failed my written permit test yesterday, so i did some laundry and now i'm okay.

for my 21st birthday a week or so ago i got the papers which mean my trust fund is finally mine, though it's not liquidated til mid-july or so. ten thousand or so goes to my wonderful and kind mother, who has supported my depression for nearly two years, and i am investing the rest, save three thousand dollars which i am using to take off around this lovely continent to spread the gospel of huggin' to those who haven't had the good fortune of hearing it in a while.

and then i'm going back to school, because richard johnson (first teacher of first class freshman year of college) hath made me want to learn for the rest of my life, if only to accumulate a mass of knowledge one fourth the size of his without being bitter and still having a heart the size of a mastadon.

i am so fucking lucky that the people i love reciporocate. i'm just lucky to have found them at all. i can't even begin to fathom focusing on what i don't have when what i do have is so blasted abundant and every tiny gem in my big pile is of genuine quality.

i've missed you, my darlings.
(= ?)








ps:
this is just in case you were wondering what it looks like when you put sunglasses on a dog's rump.

WHEN WE LAST LEFT OUR HEROINE...
since when has it been nearly a month between entries? my, my, how this year is just FLYING, don't you think? lord. since we last chatted much has happened. a year after starting the espresso bar [and two months since quitting], david asked me back for two days a week, thus explaining my consciousness at this ghastly hour. yesterday my mother quit her job and i donated what remained of the ten thousand dollar check i received at the beginning of the month to the hey-let's-keep-the-house-a-month-or-two fund. to fill the anxiety i feel about being alive and all the things that will eventually entail i have bought a room full of craft supplies and have naught to speak of for fruition save a really ugly moss-covered lion door knocker. i sit with strangers in rooms i'd rather sleep in with my head in the clouds, doodling cowboys on horses and scrawling illegible maxims i wonder at later. i've woken up several times slumped in the computer chair, back in knots and wondering what day of the week it is and depressed to find out that it didn't matter. went to san francisco with designs on a napoleon tattoo and some good times, turned into a couple of panic attacks and the loss of a potentially amusing pal. had a run-in with a couple of police officers and some very angry parents that rivaled being eaten alive on my pounding heart's richter scale. i have a heartsick new friend and restless old family-likes.

i lost my phone after a year, one hundred and eighty-one contacts at last count.
please leave your number if i was sposed to have it.
[ryan, i think you called? i'll call back today, i had yours written down.]

we all need to get the fuck out of here,
there's nowhere lonelier than the little big city.

oh, but hey, i'm fine when you get down to it, just so no one gets the wrong idea.
that psychic that ashley and i went to told me i'd be alone until the end of the year, when i will meet the person i'll spend the rest of my life with. apparently i'll also have two girls and live overseas. see guys, i won't spend the rest of my life alone like i've been fearing! color me horrified.

ps i have a disgusting rash all over both arms from sweating in angora. i also have roots in my hair that are two inches long. i just want everyone to get a good mental picture here.

APOLOGIES FOR THE REDUNDANCY, I JUST POSTED THIS ON MYSPACE.

ON BEING MACED AND ROBBED IN PARIS - a love story:

i was punched in the face and sprayed with copious amounts of mace while my camera was ripped from my hands and my purse torn from my shoulders at one in the morning at the west leg of the eiffel tower.

things gone:
passport
identification
3 major credit cards


this was all done by a group of fifteen perfectly nice looking young men who, while i lay sprawled in the grass clutching my blind and burning eyes, proceeded to beat the living piss out of my entire group of friends. vladimir went missing for three hours and i sobbed like a baby when we found out he was okay.


props go out to:
-the man who led us to the police station, stayed with us, escorted us to the hostel, and took videos and photos of a very shocked me screaming salt n' pepa's ''shoop'' into the dirty seine while lea hummed loudly the saxaphone bit from ''careless whispers''.
-the only kind police officer in france, who took my report and let me sob two hours of macey tears into his four hundred dollar suit when i was ignored completely by the four hundred officers surrounding the eiffel tower.
-juan, the guy running the counter at the hostel, who brought us beer at four am and played a mix he had made with stereo total, metric, bowie, and danced with us to all of it when none of us wanted to be alone, and stayed with us until his shift ended at eight am.


anti-props to:
-the thugs who hurt me and my friends.
-police. everywhere.
-whoever is using my fucking camera right now.







i have to get to a fucking american embassy today, and once my mom wires money into vlad's account and he gives it to me, he is off to portugal. from i, however, will be hiding in my youth hostel until an hour before my plane leaves charles de galle and i will be home, sometime within the next three days. please leave me your phone number, some of you, i'd like to talk to friends right now and my phone list was in my wallet. i am coming home and going to bed and not going outside for at least six months.
i'm not sad, not even in a bad mood, just absolutely petrified to be alive! GAAAAHHHH. this is ridiculous.


PEOPLE ARE FUCKING SCARY AND I AM SHOCKED AT HOW STRANGE THINGS ARE.
hahahaha,
happy 2006, kittens!

FIRST SENTENCE OF EVERY MONTH:

January: somehow there's a virus on this computer that means i can't use the mouse so internet activity has gotten to be more trouble than it's worth.

February: LASHEA AND I FOUND THE PERFECT APARTMENT.

March: arlen and i have been sitting side by side for the past two hours nerdily indulging ourselves, two computers clicky-clacking and lots of "oh my gosh, look!" as he delves through his musical cache and i old livejournal entries.

April: CALVIN HOW'D YOU GET SO ATTRACTIVE?

May: so let's be honest:

it really fucking sucks that the heather who has been nothing but insecure since birth and a sort-of friend of mine since age seven is getting married to an alcoholic moron AND, less importantly but still gross, that as maid of honor it is my duty to act like this is anything but a complete mistake.

June: hello, dear livejournal.

July: my pandering to corporate america has bought me a sleigh-lookin' futon couch.

August: i have a to-do list a mile long that i'm ignoring completely.

September: has anyone else noticed how COMPLETELY ALMOST FALL IT VERY MUCH IS, HMM?

October: i just had to turn off aimee & jaguar because when the man comes up from the basement and asks with apologetic, sunken and worn blue eyes if he could have the rest of the potatoes i began to sob like somebody slapped me and killed my cat and burned my house down.

November: don't care what you think about bloodflowers, this song would still be the best thing ever for an early eighties drugged-up sex orgy.

December: i've been so relieved to be done with this, the work and the waking and no time to further my education and NOW, now all i want to do is stay and slop out coffee beverages forever.




my boss took me out to an expensive dinner and told me that i was the best employee he'd ever had, then gave me a three hundred dollar digital camera. expect most entries to come with photographic interludes until i get bored. me and my mommy!:






what's up, the last couple of days have been depressing as hell.

so i threw my back out.
and then i threw a can of hairspray out the window.

subluxation of the spine is what i have, and for me it involves ten discs in my spine being shoved outta where they normally go. four of these are the result of an old whiplash injury that went untreated three or less years ago.

this means:
JESUSCHRISTOUCH.
it also means extensive and expensive chiropractic treatment.
expensive in you pay for it when you get it and in you need like ten appointments in a row before you can even walk without pain and expensive in when you miss ten hours of work so far because in your back it hurts and oh gosh does it hurt and when the fuck are you going to be able to receive a proper hug again? you don't know. arlen tried to hug you last night and you howled like a wolverine and let out sobs you didn't know you had in the sob bank because it hurt you so bad. that sucked, didn't it? you like hugs.

and if my landlord asks you, i didn't so much in a furious haze of totally being mean hurl a can of hairspray into the dining room-cum-office nook that accidentally hit the golden quail and caused the cheap glass to completely shatter upward and then outward into the ivy and dirt alley just behind my apartment two stories below as i was cleaning lint off the fan and just plum shoved the broom handle through the glass. oops and giggle to the tune of about two hundred-dollars-i-can't-afford?

especially since i, you know, had capital one screw me over YET AGAIN and am now a whopping 1G in debt to the man. i have sixty dollars to buy food and necessities until next friday.


it would sound like life sucks if i didn't totally have three days off starting day after tomorrow. it would sound even more like life sucks if i totally hadn't planned on taking a road trip with a few of my pals to la before realizing oh how broke i am-and-will-be-for-months. if vlad doesn't come home this weekend i'm hitting up my mother for a few bucks for gas and taking off to the berk for three days because:

being with people who aren't content to rot in the capitol city for the rest of their lives has made me even more decided to get the fuck out of here. i like california, it's just everywhere that's not feeling fally and cloudy and gray by the bay by this time a year should really disappear.


what's up, guys, i'm feeling more ambitious in this manic moment.

hello, dear livejournal.

since our last meeting i have:

%turned nineteen.
there goes that barely legal audition chance.

%went to san francisco and had an outrageously wild night in a hotel room, bought a lot of stuff, and ate a medically-charged cookie on the haight.
tip: eat thai food after you get stoned for the first time in a hundred years.
other tip: don't take a boring amtrak ride. don't go home and hang out with your mom. probably don't tell her you're stoned and giggle like an idiot either.

%got a new apartment eight blocks from the old one.
i'll give you the address when i figure out where it is. i'm trading in the gay methhead couple next door for a different tidy gay couple next door with sponge-painted walls. also: i have a garden to plot and a place to put all my stuff.

%got my dad's phone number.
i haven't talked to him in eight years. i've been searching for a way to contact him forever and when it just dropped into my lap i didn't quite know what to do with it. still don't, in fact.

%greeted vladimir back from mexico.
this was less than ten minutes ago. i don't know what i will do with this hip world traveller now that i have him safely back in my clutches.



i spent my entire birthday crying [at work, somtimes] except for a few brief moments when i remembered that i have a very nice fella who bought me a beautiful and fucking incredibly expensive flower arrangement. ( it kind of looks like this )

i fucking hate birthdays, they cloud my little brain into delusions that i have no friends when really, i have a gaggle and they're all very good and kind people. i get all drama queeny and it's stupid. now i'm going to be with two of my bestest friends.


PS: KARL BLAU IS PERFORMING AT SOME KID'S HOUSE THIS SUNDAY. I AM GOING, YES? i have not been this excited to actually go to any sort of show in forever. i hope to have him sign that shirt i made with his picture on it that says "I BRAKE FOR KARL BLAU". i'm so excited i just peed my pants.

so i'm NOT as hot as liza minelli and don't have eyelashes to my armpits.
WHAT'S THE HARM IN TRYING ANYWAY, HMM?

work was retarded today. like, mother earth smoked way too much pot before she had my day at work. i walked into the kitchen and as i was emptying ice cups into the dishwasher i watched three members of the kitchen staff snicker at me in japanese, which i should really learn one of these days. i looked at them like, what, is my shirt inside-out, do i have tempura sauce all over my boobs again?

bitch little squat twat boy: "too much black on your eyes, makes you look weird."

kay. for reference, my eyes are often done up in this fashion:




except in less sepia tone.
then when i tried to get boxes down from a shelf eighteen miles above my five-foot-two frame the same little bitch laughed and said i thought i was wonder woman.

luckily, i have wonderful old grandpa there. though he doesn't speak much english at all, the things he says are comforting to no end. when i grumped back into the prep room after the eyeliner comment he walked by, took my hand and put an arm around my shoulder,

"lisa. alisha. lisa."
pat pat.

for reference, he often looks like this:


except with glasses.

most of my stuff is in my new place and i'm still not there. a little afraid, are we? yes, i think so. my room in natomas is bare except for this computer and my guitar and the walls, which are still acid tangerine orange. to complete the picture-centric entry, i really really want this shirt:



except in eggplant. first person to buy me this episode in casual wear gets a blow job.

ps i totally own ( this pair of underwear: )

except i don't look as hot in them as that girl. still fantastic though.

watching the whole foggy moraga sky turn brilliant pink and the city below it twinkle as you get on the thirteen to berkeley has been the best part of my mini-holiday thus far. it really helps that kristian's roommate with the honesty you wish you had and the body-that-won't-quit was playing britney spears the whole time. i also went with vlad after food and coffee and the piercing of his nostril to a beautiful hill on campus with buildings older than your oldest living relative and watched the bridge almosttwinkle through the fog.

vlad and i are saving up money to travel to norway,
where the sunrise and sunsets [the only parts of the
average day that i don't feel antsy and nervous] are
twice as long and we can row through the fjords under
huge pregnant stars.



when i'm in the bay i feel like nowhere else is of any importance at all, and like anywhere is an okay destination, and ambition feels like comfortable armchair instead of a sludgy pipe dream. it doesn't matter so much that i feel like i've lost my k completely or that the redhead who has been my most consistent friend in the last two years has suddenly gotten fed-up with one-foot-out-of-all-doors me, it's okay that my highest goal is to be a cat lady who knows eighteen languages and travels EVERYWHERE, it's just fucking okay. i feel like i could write again. i feel like i could actually look at myself in a mirror once in a while.

i'm only eighteen. god, i have forever.
get crazy, get great.

mollusk don't cry, you can rely on me, honey.

so vladimir has risen to the very top of the people-i-wanna-be-like list, because we all know that i have no soul and am simply a cut-up third grade collage of a dumb dumb seahorse assembled from the yearbook that is people i have walked by in my life. in an hour and a half the boy crocheted me a single fingerless glove that extends to my almost-elbow and a little red flower that dangles most dainty. i'm sure he'll crochet its mate when he has a spare moment at a stoplight or something.

you know, when i post pictures in here it's usually to show that "hey, i'm not an ugly beasty sometimes!" or "hey, i'm totally actually an ugly beasty but isn't it funny, that thingy that i'm doing?"
i get the feeling when other people post pictures it's more like, "i am soooo hot, just in case you didn't know in real life. also, you're disgusting and stop trying, shellfish."

but i could be wrong.

and i didn't get that job at lush, probably because i wanted it, but it's the first interview i've ever had where i didn't get the job and now i have to remember that so i kind of wish i'd just stayed home and made cake instead. at least that girl at the rock store wanted to jump me. and at least that teapot with the fishy at the tea cozy is only eighteen dollars.

i should not be rotting here at home being melancholy, but i can't think of anything to do that involves not being friendly or lazy and all my paintbrushes are at natalie's house. and seriously, why does my german-english-and-back-again dictionary take no notice of the fact that people have sex? it has the word cami-knickers, tho.

i have written more frequently and with much greater length and detour in this livejournal in the past few weeks than i have in the year before that. i need a hobby, a job, and a new house.
and hey, i feel like i'm re-learning everything.

i have found that a good amount of caffeine and/or a jaunty bikeride through a puffy-clouded downtown sacramento is about the same as a big fat dose of amphetamine. which is good because
GO TEAM SOBRIETY 2005!
because "hey mom stop all that drinking"
and "ps buy me and my friends some rum for a fun night of giggles" simply don't work within most of the small periods of time they happened in.

of course had i opted for the amphetamine instead of the bikeride i could have saved myself this big fat gash on the back of my foot that forced me to stop at olipom, buy a pair of cheap tassled loafers, and change into them without anyone noticing that i was hemmorhaging from the nether limbs. i don't care how classy my witchy shoes with the little-girl-holding-the-teddy-bear and zodiac-dradle-thing rub-on transfers are, next time it's loafers and a sensible pair of socks.

like how i'm talking about nothing?
I DO.
JAUNTY!

mom: "OH MY GOD, THEY HAVE QUEER EYE FOR THE STRAIGHT GIRL! I HAVE TO SEEEEE THAT!"
colin: "what's a fraggle?"

completely unrelated things, both equally unsettling.



so i'll be moving in with any one or all of three lovely ladies by mid-february and tomorrow i have an interview for a receptionist position at an annoyingly trendy little salon downtown. despite the description it sounds like the best job ever, but i'm wearing a hat to the interview because with my current brand of diy mane-pruning i'm afraid that the focus would be torn away from my winning smile and charming chatter.

there are only so many instant messages, livejournal comments and answering machine yowls one can churn out to a former roommate before feeling like a lame-ass.

and i'm still deeply in love with arlen lawson and that's fine.
time for bath.

somehow there's a virus on this computer that means i can't use the mouse so internet activity has gotten to be more trouble than it's worth.

//tab.tab.tab//

for christmas i got a sparkling little green schwinn breeze, all re-chromed with baskets and a frame that fits me much better than gertrude the varsity did, may she rest in peace. after the presents happened my friends all congregated at my house to drink mimosas and watch movies.

in between the two holidays i saw my life aquatic and a very long engagement, neither of which i payed for and both of which i adored.

holiday 2: i rang in the new year dancing with arlen, natalie, fran, eileen, and jesse to 'dead disco' by stereo total and spent the subsequent first hours of the year sprawling around on natalie's bed staring at twinkle lights.

my resolutions are to change very little about much of what i did last year, because it was an absolutely lovely one.

so i'm back in my old house in my old room in sacramento, mother watching law & order on the couch, felines nuzzling my feet.

we drove 1800 miles in a little less than 2 days and i feel disoriented as hell. it was the world's speediest and most wonderful roadtrip, BUT. i've gotten 3 hours of sleep in the last 72 and i feel like i've been defeated coming back here. i've lived on my own for a year and a half now and i'm right back in my twin bed staring at the tangerine walls again.

the difference: arlen curled into a little sleepy ball on my front couch.




my god, how much i've left behind.
it's going to be rough readjusting to this city.
sleep now, elaborations later.

so:
MAYBE I DID ACCIDENTLY LIKE SAVAGE GARDEN.
horrifying.

oh my gosh, i will be flying out of this motherfucking town like a rocket loaded with housewares in t-minus nine days and counting and i haven't packed a bloody thing.

on the 16th [a week from today] there will be a big fat party at my good friend kyle ford's house, and everyone i've ever met in iowa is invited, as it will probably be a good long time before i see your beautiful faces again. if we've so much as passed on the street i want you there. he lives on north dodge and more details will follow. byoFUN.

i squished and squooshed and begged and pleaded but there was one thing i couldn't fit into the moving truck:


i'm sure everyone here will be pleased that i couldn't fit that extra bit of cargo, but it's horrible to be leaving a girl who has spent the last year being my best friend in the world. i swear, if you are ever lucky enough to meet miss christy brown-kwaiser, you fucking thank all your stars and other peoples' too.

the pain of that is somewhat numbed by the fact that this other thing i wanted to bring fits in the truck just fine, though his couch and desk and stuff are questionably pushing it:


[pictures from the daily iowan chronicle of the new voters project show.]

and in case you have forgotten what i look like, it's very much in this vein:


but with more fat and less eyeballs.
i spent the whole night out yesterday with lovelies and pretties, and all went well until someone passed around a set of candid shots taken from various nights at sam's, when i promptly collapsed in a ball of self-loathing. DO ME A MOTHERFUCKING FAVOR AND KEEP YOUR GODDAMN CAMERAS AWAY FROM ME. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE WHAT I LOOK LIKE IN REAL LIFE. THIS IS WHY I STAUNCHLY AVOID MIRRORS WHEN OUT AND ABOUT. I DON'T EVEN LOOK IN REFLECTIVE WINDOWS.

i am now going to sneak off to takanami to eat lunch alone,
because i haven't in a while, and i want to.

HEY, WHEN DID I STOP BEING CLEVER?
oh no, i di-hin't [go there, that is].

ryan and i look like a really fancy little couple, don't we?

FANCY, THAT.

we decided that it's such a crying shame that we're NOT A COUPLE AT ALL EVER that we should act like one all the time, just because we're so damn darling. here is a picture of us doing couply things, like blowing on pasta and wearing large glasses:


FANCY]]]].


it is early morn and i'm a bit too hyper to go to sleep. maybe i should ask the entire sam's crew if they can all come over and play the inserting-the-word-vagina-into-movie-titles game for ANOTHER TWO HOURS so that i can drift off again like i did in the bar. noteworthy contributions as follows: the texas chainsaw vagina, lockstock&twosmoking vaginas, yawnyawnyawn.

wow, so i just realized how tired i am and will now take my leave.

ps ryan was totally a badass today but i can't tell you how. anyway, it's exciting and worth at least one squeal, if not more. arlen was also a badass, and i can't tell you how about that either. you'll just have to trust me. everyone i date becomes a james dean at some point or other.

edit to earlier entry:
i'm in a much better frame of mind right now.

i wonder how people deal with judging other people so constantly?
it seems like it would take so much more effort, so much valuable time away from just enjoying the fuck out of people within the confines of your own interests, the things you think that make the world fun to live in in the first place. calm down, phil, calm the fuck down.

it's a lovely universe, do-do-do-do-do-do-do-doooo-do-do/////.

heather might be coming this weekend with companions a-plenty, and there's a slim chance that vlad might come down as well. then, as surely as i can guess, we will all trek down to chicago in rattling cars and wander around the city and i will get to see mustapha's bride again in all its tactless glory.

arlen is at home, sleeping like a little doll, and all i want to do is call and make him wake up so i can babble at him in giddy four am fashion. but i won't. because i'm nice.

sometimes ryan helps me figure things out, and i'm grateful for it.
we have better conversations in the wee hours of morn than you have with everyone you know all day.
oh me, oh life!!

so many calls to make tomorrow! those who have been ignored in the throes of busy planning and winter depression watch out for my manic love attack etc.



take me off your friends list, by the way, if you don't actually like me.
i know at least one of you who should hop to it immediately,
if you haven't already created filters to make me go away.
jerks! be honest, already.


a limerick i wrote about my mom in third grade:
what can we say about molly?
she's as sweet as a cherry-red lolly.
no one in the place,
has so lovely a face,
and her being that way is no folly.

not bad. because i was eight.
MORNING!!@#^%$*&


PS

I HEART BAD GRAMMAR:

trees. is love
brought to you by the isLove Generator