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[21 Nov 2009|08:25am] |
i just bit into a kit kat w/ no wafer. they forgot it. it totally threw me.
and that's my event for the day.
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| 9 YEARS AND 10 MONTHS LATER... |
[17 Nov 2009|10:08pm] |
my very first lj entry was one of those self questionnaire things. i've just filled it out again. there are *s by the answers that i didn't feel the need to change. for some reason, i thought there would be less of those. i guess it goes to show the old saying is true, that the more things change, the more things stay the same...
( and on and on and on and on and on: )
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[15 Nov 2009|02:55am] |
It's so autumnal just now. The wind is cutting, the trees are russet, and the air smells clean.
The point of that last entry was that I need to write my life down, but for the past five years I've been saying that and I haven't. I think I'm not in love with myself anymore. Back in the day, even at my most fucked up, I still knew I was the greatest, with potential to be mroe. Now I'm sure I'm not, and the potential's gone. I still like my face, I still like my handwriting, but now I know there's nothing more and the urge to chronicle it all is gone. No need for a written record of this life, it's not going anywhere, and certainly not important. Sometimes I wake up thinking "hate hate hate..." saying the word over and over like a mantra in my head, barrelling down Hwy 3...
What does that even mean?
What the fuck am I doing here?
I feel like I'm suddenly waking up and the past few years have been a weird dream. Where did I go?
You know what? I've got to get myself out of my head.
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[14 Nov 2009|02:36pm] |
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In order to figure out the approximate time period spring break generally occurs at a quarter system university (rather than semester) I was reading back over my journal from 2002. I used to write a lot more bad poetry than I remember. and my life was a lot more interesting then than I remember now. There were occurrances and events written there I'd totally forgotten about. It make sme wonder how much I've lost, these past five years, by not writing on a regular basis. I think I'm going to have to make myself start writing again. There are old friends there I no longer see, but reading back, I realize I never entirely lost them, because I still have them on record. I want to be able to remember my friends now.
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[03 Oct 2009|06:25am] |
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i feel some bad poetry coming on.
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[22 Sep 2009|03:04am] |
yesterday was the last day of the year that was a good year to die.
happy new year to me.
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| brand new and coheed and cambria @ the puyallup fair. |
[17 Sep 2009|08:45am] |
Re Brand New:
I'm not one of those people who keeps track of set lists. I can tell you they opened w/ 3 #s from Deja Entendu including "i believe you but my tommy gun don't" and "sic transit gloria...glory fades" ~ I know they also played a rather good "jaws theme swimming," ended w/ "hangman" (i think. either way, that one was excellent) played "into the sun" and "jesus christ" and "degausser" (sort of halfassed) somewhere in the middle, w/ a rendition of "gasoline" from "daisy" which comes out in five days (the day after my birthday) (thank you very much). Perhaps I'm not the best judge of things, but the entire set seemed to seethe w/ an air of pentup frustration, a sense of "what are we doing here?" At one poing, Lacey made a comment about having been a band for 10 years. it seemed laced w/ quite a bit of "what the fuck?"
Partly it could have been the venue. they opened for Coheed and Cambria, and while quite a few people were there for Brand New (you could tell which ones by the way they dressed, which really was part of the problem ~ the fans still dress like the band used to sound, and the band no longer sounds like poppy punky emo), the majority, it seemed, were only marking time for the main event, which like their prog-rock predecessors, seem self-designed for arena rock, huge crowds of teens spanning into adults up and through middle age waving fists and shouting out lyrics like gospel. Brand New just doesn't translate into a grandstand concert affair. At this point in their career, they're crying out for a small venue, slightly seedy, at which they can feed their raunchy depression into the crowd @ screaming volumes and whip it into the frenzy they (fans, band alike) deserve. For some reason, last night they remineded me of Nirvana, and it wasn't just Jesse Lacey's plaid shirt or Garrett Tierney smashing his bass at the end (I'm not sure what that was in aid of ~ that didn't translate well either, or maybe fast approaching 28, I just don't get it anymore. Sure, he seemed to be having troubles w/ it towards the end of the set, but that's no reason to destroy the poor thing. I suppose I'm just not rock enough).
The token three from Deja Entendu were merely lip service to fans the band weren't sure they had, it felt like, a "let's just get this over with" ~ bass line and drums the only solidly recognizable parts to each, unless you know the words by heart. Jesse and Vin just seemed pissed off. Maybe it was the rain. It rained all day and i was damp and annoyed too. Maybe they were annoyed as well at having to pay homage to the songs that cemented their fan base six years ago, but that they've long grown out of ~ the angsty-pretty-melodic of an emo band too talented to be what they were. Probably, they've just translated the songs into today. I don't know. I'm not them. Now, they simply rock.
There is a three year old babbling in my ear and I'v lost my train of thought.
Coheed and Cambria was good. they seemed a lot happier to be there. I cut out in the middle of the encore because I knew I was gonna get lost trying to find the highway.
I'm still glad I went. How often does a girl get to see such vastly different bands, who happen to be two of her favorite bands still actually playing today, on the same night? who cares if Brand New was reluctant? I still thought they rocked. Probably they can't help it.
Happy Birthday to meeee :)
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| the placebo affect |
[08 Sep 2009|09:09pm] |
i am very drunk.
usually, i am not at all drunk off five beers and one shot of tequila.
however, i haven't slept in 36 hours.
for fun, i poured a hornsby's green apple into an empty bottle of my henry weinhard's belgian style wheat ale.
i am notorious for hating sweet alcoholic drinks. when i get henrys, i usually mix them all up so i have one of every six types in the six pax carton.
i decided to play a trick
both my roommates hate real beer.
they drink the bitch beer.
so i pour'd a bitch beer into my empty summer wheat bottle.
rick, of course, asked to try it.
every time he tastes beer, he remarks upon how horrid the taste is.
this time, he said it was surprisingly sweet, and was surprised i was drinking it, and how delicious it was. i was afraid he was going to keep the bottle.
pixie tried it, and said the same.
neither recognized it as the same thing they've each had 3-4 bottles of this evening.
their tastebuds are faulty, or the placebo affect is more powerful than i thought.
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| babushka |
[06 Sep 2009|12:40am] |
12:22 am
I'm spending time w/ a crazy woman. She has some sort of laughing disorder. She keeps asking me to look up names in the phone book for her. They all live around Yelm and Rainier. One was JZ Knight. Another was James Flick. I told her I didn't think we'd find residential listings for these people, but I found her business numbers. The other names come up blank so I assume they're all ramthaites or something of the sort.
And she's just standing her, tapping her business cards around laughing, clutching the desk when she laughs too hard so she doesn't fall over. Then she rolls her eyes and nearly falls over laughing again. Op, she just said "thank you you are very kind." Smiled, nodded like a regular person, walked over to the house phone.
Wow.
Nice to be kind.
She has some sort of east european accent maybe. She's average height, slightly dumpy, maybe mid-50s, early 60s, I don't know. I'm bad at judging age. Her face is round and coarse ~ one of those manly women, though not unhandsome, her hair very dark and streaked with gray. When she laughs, though, her cheeks screw up into a series of vertical lines at ugly odds with the horizontal slits of her eyes.
She started to freak me out a little earlier, when she was watching a sermon on public access tv, and started laughing hysterically, LOUDLY. because of the accoustics where the tv is in the lobby, it echoed all around and sounded like two and three people at a time, indulging in riotous laughter while some, oh, i don't know, scholar, reverend, someone preached through the tv screen about how god isn't crazy about theocracies ~ oop, no, he clarified that point later. God isn't crazy about kingships. After he clarified the point he just screwed up his whole premis, though, and while I was beginnign to think he was a sensible man (usually those public access preachers drive me nuts, i'm just not a fire and brimstone kind of girl) i begun to think he was just pandering to the left wing after that. this is why i love jerry fallwell, he doesn't pander, and doesn't care if people know he's a nut job.
the crazy woman is laughing to herself again over in the corner where the gm keeps her business cards, writing more names for me to look up i expect. ms gm's gonna be mystified. where did all her brand new business cards go so quickly? but i'm not inclined to stop babushka, she's amusing me.
I wonder if Ramtha did her wrong, or if she thinks he can do her right.
When it comes to religion, even crazier factions, I can't help but give almost any and all the benefit of the doubt. I mean, as a girl who was raised to believe three kings followed a star to a baby cross country who was a son of god and who grew up to raise people from the dead and then rise from the dead himself, who was told as a child that an entire culture followed a pillar of fire through the desert for forty years and lived on food that fell from the sky every morning ~ well, even when it comes to the looniest, who can quibble with a background like that?
However, at age 22 or so, I read JZ Knights biography, and even straight from the horse's mouth, as they say, came away w/ the impression her story was complete fabrication.
Oh man, the laughing's getting loud again. She really does sound manic. She seems to have a room key though. I hope it's really hers.
At some point I'm gonna have to stop this, because our internet's bogged down by the guys who work at the gas station and have hacked into the wireless, and actually get to work. I wonder if she'll say i'm very kind then.
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[15 Aug 2009|05:26pm] |
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There's a popular tattoo, where a little girl shoots herself in the temple with a handgun, and butterflies are coming out the other side. If that were me, right now, I think there would be toads coming out ~ fat, croaking toads. There's a racket in my skull and they're jumping against the walls to get out, and I think one of them is digging a tunnel through my sinuses.
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[11 Aug 2009|04:14am] |
I've got this seger medley stuck in my head...i can't sort one tune and lyrics from another...
"working on the night moves, deadlines and commitments, against the wind, still running against the wind, we're older now, but still give me the beat boys and free my soul, i wanna get lost in your rock, like a rock, humming a song from 1962 to drift away..."
oh the torture.
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| you know you work to much when... |
[10 Aug 2009|01:11am] |
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chopping vegetables in the kitchen, rick asked me to get an onion for him. because i was putting a load of clothes in the wash at that very moment, i asked him to hold, please.
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| ugh |
[23 May 2009|11:50pm] |
Sometimes the pickiest little things annoy me, such as "please r.s.v.p" or as it has become more lately, "call to r.s.v.p."
Isn't that a little redundant? or am I mistaking the meaning of the acronym? ugh.
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| On Shopping (losing hours and money and really good stuff) |
[08 Mar 2009|03:01am] |
Egad! I just lost an hour damnit. Just this minute. MY LONG STANDING SHOPPING RULES:
Never buy anything unless you absolutely love it,
desperately need it,
or it's $5 or under (for coats and jeans and sometimes footwear ~ i.e. boots ~ $15 and under is acceptable).
Accept all gifts and hand-me-downs.
It's ok to ignore all above rules with gift cards, unless you tried to cheat and bought the gift card for yourself.
These rules are to help one to keep from indulging in totally pointless shopping (impulse buying, I'm told it's called), spending money on things that will clutter up your life, your closet, put your wallet on a diet and never see the light of day after one wearing or less. However, there is one rule you must follow in order to live a happy wardrobe life, and that is the first rule, the "if you love it rule."
HOWEVER...
Not all of us are wealthy, and most of us may not have the strength of will to give up food for a week in order to afford those knee-high jockey boots...
THEREFORE:
If you've determined you absolutely love it and can't afford it, ask yourself three questions:
1) Will this go on clearance next week?
2) Do I really need this?
3) Will I regret not buying this months or even years from now?
See, it's sad to live with regret like this. Most of my biggest regrets are of purchases not made because of my Scrooge-like nature. There are, for instance, those adorable black leather pants I coveted Fall 2000, or that Polo dress in Spring '03 that for some reason I couldn't part with $110 for even if back then I DIDN'T HAVE ANY BILLS TO SPEAK OF (kicks self, idiot), or those wide-legged jeans last spring, or that adorable turquoise velvet cocktail dress (circa 1960) and orange velvet peep-toe pumps (circa no clue) (not to be worn together, duh) from that "vintage" clothing shop on Denny and Olive in October 2003...
I'm so gonna cry.
What the hell was the point of this?!
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| Rise Against and other things. |
[07 Mar 2009|02:05pm] |
There are some people, who, no matter what, can do no wrong in my eyes. Whatever they say or do, or whatever scandalous gossip is floating around about them, I just think, "aw, that's so-and-so. It can't be that bad." Dolly Parton is one of those people. I love me some Dolly.
I saw the end of the rainbow today. I was driving north 5 to work (centralia to oly) and an rainbow just suddenly popped up in front of my car. I mean, I was literally driving right behind the end of the rainbow for about three miles (or three minutes anyway, so probably it was a bit farther). It looked like it was maybe five feet in front of me the whole time. I felt rather blessed.
That, however, wasn't a soundtrack moment. I've noticed, sometimes, when I'm driving, it's almost as if a certain mood or situation will conjure a song from the radio to fit the moment. For instance, back in the beginning of January, the first night it flooded, and I spent an extra 20 minutes driving through town trying to find a back road that would let me through without drenching something important in my motor, windshield wipers working furiously to swipe away the downpour. I finally break free onto Hwy 3 and out blasting from my stereo (which was loaded with an mp3 cd, and therefore could have played any one of a couple hundred songs of various genres) is "Have You Ever Seen the Rain," CCR. Or, shortly thereafter, I'm listening to 107.7 (Seattle) on my way to work, and just as I'm driving by Capitol lake, with the dome of the Capitol building in view, I notice the radio's playing Rancid's "Olympia, WA." These are only two examples.
I realize this is largely because the world is much smaller than it feels sometimes, and therefore coincidences are just that, but it still always feels kind of hoo-doo voo-doo magical dejavuey.
But while I was following the rainbow, the radio was playing some semi-accoustic song by Rise Against. Oh well.
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[23 Dec 2008|01:42am] |
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It's quite odd. I've never accidentally begun a book before on a day the book started ~ I mean, I started the book on Dec. 21, and the book begins on Dec 21. I've gone past today in the book though, it's 23 Dec. right now, and in the book it's Christmas morning. It's a very good book though, The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper. I read it when I was 10, and it's just as good now as it was then. And it's especially good because it takes place at Christmas time. Books taking place at Christmas time, especially well-written childrens books, are always better for it, I think. It makes me remember why I used to enjoy Christmas so much, and makes me forget why I'm so indifferent to it now. It's not so full of commercial crap in the books, it feels as if the book is celebrating Christmas because it wants to, not because it feels obliged to.
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| Working it Out (plotting device) |
[07 Dec 2008|08:42pm] |
Often, in the 50 min sojourn to home or work, I lose myself in telling myself a story. this is not a new occupation, its roots are in long bus rides to school and keeping my mind off the actual labor of my chores when I was a kid. This is, in fact, where most of my stories (and I suspect those of many who write) come from.
The plots can come from anywhere: often though, I'm designing a movie, play or bit of wishful thinking in which the main role or a heavily supporting role can be played by yours truly (this of course doesn't mean the role designed for myself is anything like me ~ it's who I'd like to pretend to be for a while ~ take Andra Grace, for example, or Remy. Though often a character ends up with strong AGW characteristics ~ Matt Munroe, for one, or Cory/Buddah.
With the length and frequency of my commutes, I've got a fuckton of plots and no time to do anythign with them. As an experiment, I've developed a story-outlining device, a piece of work that detracts only a small amout of time from the two novels I'm (finally, avidly) trying to finish: to plot out a scene, or conversation, with as many of the leading characters as possible, to catch the essence of the story and the main players.
The scene, of course, can't actually occur in the proposed completed work. In order to be enough to remind me just what I intended, it has to be too blatant and broad for anything but a rembering device. Here's the first one (a shining example of my love for a good soap opera/melodrama, with someday a little bit of moder noir to be liberally sprinkled therein):
HERE IT IS (stashed so snazzily in my free angelfire website I've had for over a decade, because as the pc and laptop have been in and will be in storage for some time, I've no place else to stash my typings, and I can acce4ss this where ever there is interweb, copy, past, and print as necessary).
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[29 Nov 2008|11:43pm] |
i think... i think (knocking really hard on wood) matty munroe's come back to play. i can feel him. i'm having a harder time capturing mari again, but mac's right on the tip of my fingers. about another half chapter down, here's hoping. i always felt so badly for letting those three down. matty and mac are my forever favorites.
Finally, after four years, I think I finished chapter 9. I think I'm making myself sad. Maybe I stopped writing because I didn't want to have to end it.
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[24 Nov 2008|10:30pm] |
I'm on the edge. There's no commitment in my mind, the need to break free tugs against my nature, which is to stay still. When I think of myself, I picture dandylion fluff, unsubstatial, blowing where the wind takes it, or on someone's wishful breath, to rest and take root and grow for a bit, only to become fluff again and blow away.
It's treacle, I know, but it is. I live my life by the whims of others. Yet I am not mutable.
Being insubstantial, it's easy for others to see me as they think I am, as they want me to be. But at the core, I am solid, I know myself deep and true, and I know, sometimes, it's fraudulant behavior to let others continue on in their false views of who and what I am. But it suits me for them to believe so, and good or bad, I never do anything but what suits me.
I've never been truly ashamed, though I think, according to the prevalent morality, I should be.
And if I truly knew myself down to the ground, cared so little for others to really know me too, would I be thinking about it enough to write about it? (Though in truth, sometimes I only write otu loud because the glide of pen against paper is soothing, only save these wonderings because I'm a vain creature and I like to look at myself.)
I am a fraud though. And I think it doesn't matter.
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[22 Nov 2008|07:28pm] |
I'm not ready to write it yet. I'm afraid.
You know when you can see the black clouds gathering behind you? Breathe in the moisture in the air, as the light fades from gold to pale white-ishness. You can out drive it sometimes, as the first tell-tale drops of wet hit the windsheild, wipe them away, punch the gas, heading for the clear spot on the horison. Sometimes, though, the clouds boil up too fast, or you're not paying attention and the sheet of wet hits you unprepared. Sometimes you can't outdrive the rain.
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