So, you're sitting at work thinking, "sheesh...I have a shit load of friends that have had or are having a baby...what should I buy them?" You know it can't be terribly mainstream...bc, that's not how you roll. So, you google search "emo hipster baby apparel" and find this little treasure.
I must get one of my own one day...just so I can dress it in old skool vans and 'I'm just doing this until my band gets signed' onesies.
I had to let you all know.
So, sorry Mandy...I tried to order the aforementioned onesie at work today...but my stupid network blocked it. God damn the man.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Thank You Notes
Lately, it’s been really bothering me how serious and depressing I sound on this stupid waste of time and space. So, I thought I’d be a little more happy/thankful serious…than depressing serious.
Thank You Notes:
I’ve never felt this absolutely broken in my life. Everything is spinning out of control and I can’t do much to stop it. And I would be locked away in some cheap rehabilitation center right now if it was not for people who give a damn about me. I don’t say it enough. But I felt it acutely yesterday tearfully driving back to Austin from a weekend at the parent’s house. So, here goes…
Adam – You’ve always inspired me to be a better writer and a better person. I will always hold dear one really really bad day I had and wrote this one stupid blog…You liked it best of all. And it will always be my favorite. Thank you for seeing through my silly exterior that’s consumed by new clothes and lip gloss.
Anjel – If you ever want a straight answer with no bull shit. Ask Anjel. Sometimes it hurts…but it’s generally truth. Thanks for putting up with all my ridiculous boy drama, rolling your eyes at me, and telling me to “shut the [pause] up”. Also, thank you for allowing me to say things like, “OK” as well as a white girl from the suburbs can say it…and teaching me how to dance.
Dirk – Even though you don’t believe in blogs and will never read this…you cared about me at my lowest. I don’t break down like that…especially in front of people. Thank you for being a shoulder to cry…or sob on in tumultuous times. And thanks for not trying to fix me that night.
Julia – It scared me to death the Saturday morning I picked up the phone and you told me you were engaged. I really do have to grow up, when all I want to do is hold on to those Sunday’s we would cruise around Dallas with no plan…just driving and being each others company. Or those wild nights out with our amazing synergy and nothing could stop us. I still haven’t forgiven you for falling asleep at the Candle Room! =] I wish more than anything that you still lived in Texas, but have resigned myself to many spa weekends in Scottsdale after March 31st. Long live Manhattan’s and roof top hot tubs!
Lindsay – The only person in the world that doesn’t tell me I’m obsessing too much. If I needed to talk about the same thing for hours…you’d listen. Sorry I ate all your Spaghetti Oh’s at your grandparent’s house. Well, that was Julia’s fault too. =]
Mandy – You win the award for active listening. And as someone who rarely feels like she’s ever heard, this is a big deal. I love our dinners and often wish they weren’t over as fast as they are.
Mark – We have a tainted past. I’m glad we both got over it and can now be friends. As much as you still irritate the shit out of me…I know if I need a smile or just an old friend to pick up the phone…You’re there. So, thank you.
Valerie – You are always there. Anytime. You’ve been my constant for years now. We might be the two most different people in the world when it comes to many things, but it oddly works for us. I could call you five times a day at work and you wouldn’t kill me for it. Yesterday reminded me how much I miss sitting around with you…talking about nothing…drinking Coke Zero and eating frozen Thin Mints. I miss you even though you stepped on Frank’s tail in wooden clogs. =]
This wasn’t as eloquent as it should be, and all of you deserve more than a shout out in a stupid blog. Were I rich enough, I’d take you all out for a drink and let you talk for hours instead of listening to my stupid blabbering. I love you guys. And sincerely, thank you.
Thank You Notes:
I’ve never felt this absolutely broken in my life. Everything is spinning out of control and I can’t do much to stop it. And I would be locked away in some cheap rehabilitation center right now if it was not for people who give a damn about me. I don’t say it enough. But I felt it acutely yesterday tearfully driving back to Austin from a weekend at the parent’s house. So, here goes…
Adam – You’ve always inspired me to be a better writer and a better person. I will always hold dear one really really bad day I had and wrote this one stupid blog…You liked it best of all. And it will always be my favorite. Thank you for seeing through my silly exterior that’s consumed by new clothes and lip gloss.
Anjel – If you ever want a straight answer with no bull shit. Ask Anjel. Sometimes it hurts…but it’s generally truth. Thanks for putting up with all my ridiculous boy drama, rolling your eyes at me, and telling me to “shut the [pause] up”. Also, thank you for allowing me to say things like, “OK” as well as a white girl from the suburbs can say it…and teaching me how to dance.
Dirk – Even though you don’t believe in blogs and will never read this…you cared about me at my lowest. I don’t break down like that…especially in front of people. Thank you for being a shoulder to cry…or sob on in tumultuous times. And thanks for not trying to fix me that night.
Julia – It scared me to death the Saturday morning I picked up the phone and you told me you were engaged. I really do have to grow up, when all I want to do is hold on to those Sunday’s we would cruise around Dallas with no plan…just driving and being each others company. Or those wild nights out with our amazing synergy and nothing could stop us. I still haven’t forgiven you for falling asleep at the Candle Room! =] I wish more than anything that you still lived in Texas, but have resigned myself to many spa weekends in Scottsdale after March 31st. Long live Manhattan’s and roof top hot tubs!
Lindsay – The only person in the world that doesn’t tell me I’m obsessing too much. If I needed to talk about the same thing for hours…you’d listen. Sorry I ate all your Spaghetti Oh’s at your grandparent’s house. Well, that was Julia’s fault too. =]
Mandy – You win the award for active listening. And as someone who rarely feels like she’s ever heard, this is a big deal. I love our dinners and often wish they weren’t over as fast as they are.
Mark – We have a tainted past. I’m glad we both got over it and can now be friends. As much as you still irritate the shit out of me…I know if I need a smile or just an old friend to pick up the phone…You’re there. So, thank you.
Valerie – You are always there. Anytime. You’ve been my constant for years now. We might be the two most different people in the world when it comes to many things, but it oddly works for us. I could call you five times a day at work and you wouldn’t kill me for it. Yesterday reminded me how much I miss sitting around with you…talking about nothing…drinking Coke Zero and eating frozen Thin Mints. I miss you even though you stepped on Frank’s tail in wooden clogs. =]
This wasn’t as eloquent as it should be, and all of you deserve more than a shout out in a stupid blog. Were I rich enough, I’d take you all out for a drink and let you talk for hours instead of listening to my stupid blabbering. I love you guys. And sincerely, thank you.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Untitled
She was sitting in her car. It’s kind of beat up now after drunkenly trying to maneuver her way into the garage overly served one night. That old Elvis Costello song blaring out of already abused speakers. “I want you…the thought of him undressing you, or you undressing”. There’s a runner on her Camel as she stares straight ahead, lifelessly at the red light on 38th and Lamar. Her eyes are watering. Watering? Or tearing? She’s not sure. Everything is still. Everything is out of control. She loves this song. Sad songs…always the best. She fantasizes about the car racing toward her ramming into the front of hers. Shakes her head a few times to remove herself from this bitter real thought. She doesn't want to leave just yet.
It’s 5:15am on Friday morning. She stands naked in the bathroom looking at her reflection. She doesn’t hate it. She really doesn’t. Well, maybe a little from the rear view, but with a little back lighting you never see all the imperfection on her skin. She takes a deep, long breath and steps on the scale. God dammit. Start eating! This is ridiculous. Just MAKE yourself freaking eat. 3 lbs in one week. And not because she’s trying.
A break. One tiny week with nothing to think about. Warmth. Love. Realizations of a good kind. Nothingness. Nothingness of the good kind.
Smiles. She’s all smiles and charm. People love her. Well, most people. “How can you say you’re so sad? You laugh a lot?” And “are you trying to fucking piss me off by not eating?!?!” Yeah…she is. She loves the fact that she doesn’t enjoy food anymore. It’s fantastic. Really.
She is sad. Nothing is good enough. Nothing works out.
God, just say what you fucking want to say. She can’t. She’s too afraid. Afraid of loss. Afraid of love. Afraid of life. Stop being so afraid. Stop. Just stop.
It’s 5:15am on Friday morning. She stands naked in the bathroom looking at her reflection. She doesn’t hate it. She really doesn’t. Well, maybe a little from the rear view, but with a little back lighting you never see all the imperfection on her skin. She takes a deep, long breath and steps on the scale. God dammit. Start eating! This is ridiculous. Just MAKE yourself freaking eat. 3 lbs in one week. And not because she’s trying.
A break. One tiny week with nothing to think about. Warmth. Love. Realizations of a good kind. Nothingness. Nothingness of the good kind.
Smiles. She’s all smiles and charm. People love her. Well, most people. “How can you say you’re so sad? You laugh a lot?” And “are you trying to fucking piss me off by not eating?!?!” Yeah…she is. She loves the fact that she doesn’t enjoy food anymore. It’s fantastic. Really.
She is sad. Nothing is good enough. Nothing works out.
God, just say what you fucking want to say. She can’t. She’s too afraid. Afraid of loss. Afraid of love. Afraid of life. Stop being so afraid. Stop. Just stop.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Fuck Life
I have so much I want to say. But unfortunately none of it can be said in a public blog. I feel like talking in lyrics. Living a 'sad sad song tuned to chords'. The ones I always like the best. Holding on to a string of life through 'Radio Cures'. 'Cheer up, honey, I hope you can'. I'm both honey and narrator in this song. I'm not apologizing for being a little musically obsessive.
I don't want to go home. I hate home. That place is toxic.
I hate the chemistry in my brain. I hate this unquenchable hope.
I took my last two Advil PM's. I slept till 1pm. I love to sleep.
I am so jacked up. Sometimes I wonder if I like feeling jacked up. I dunno. I really liked the feelings early this morning...and that wasn't a jacked up feeling. But. Feelings are terribly deceitful. And at the end of the day...they mean very little. At least that's what I'm supposed to believe.
I'm just....lost. Disoriented. Alone. Again. As much of a loner as I can be...I don't want to be alone. I'm tired of it. As it is...I'm just fucking tired. I'm so tired. I can feel it in my skin.
I don't want to go home. I hate home. That place is toxic.
I hate the chemistry in my brain. I hate this unquenchable hope.
I took my last two Advil PM's. I slept till 1pm. I love to sleep.
I am so jacked up. Sometimes I wonder if I like feeling jacked up. I dunno. I really liked the feelings early this morning...and that wasn't a jacked up feeling. But. Feelings are terribly deceitful. And at the end of the day...they mean very little. At least that's what I'm supposed to believe.
I'm just....lost. Disoriented. Alone. Again. As much of a loner as I can be...I don't want to be alone. I'm tired of it. As it is...I'm just fucking tired. I'm so tired. I can feel it in my skin.
Monday, January 08, 2007
In This I believe
Driving home from work today. NPR on the radio. A lady with a moderate Tennessee accent read her version of, "In this...I believe". I'm no stranger to being almost moved manipulatively by NPR stories that ordinary people have written, and this day would not prove antithetic. So, here goes.
In this, I believe...
I believe in using the thesaurus tab on dictionary.com to look up better words for 'different'. I believe in not being ashamed that that is where I found the word 'antithetic'.
I believe that most of the worlds pessimists are really just romantics. Hurt romantics but romantics with sensibilities.
I believe that you can hurt people close to you without knowing you are doing so. And in turn they can hurt you back, knowing they are doing so. And vice versa.
I believe that advil and wine make a great combination, no matter what Diane Sawyer said a couple weeks ago on Good Morning America.
I believe in comic relief mostly because I don't want to be seen as a huge posing sap.
I believe in the power of the animal you feed. Maybe they only pur when you come home because you're about to feed them, but they are purring for you. And nurturing something is a powerful feeling.
I believe in making fun of my sisters. I don't know why...but if I don't make fun of you ever, I REALLY don't like you. I believe that might be sick.
I believe in my doppelganger. She believes it's ok to be dark, morbid and grotesque. She also loves it when people tell her that what she writes is scary or it made the hairs on their arms stick up.
I believe in rational love, but only so someone can disprove that to me one day.
I believe in being vague on purpose.
I believe in emoticons. In text messaging. In not answering the damn phone if I don't want.
I believe in tormented people. In people who feel deeply. In people that can be honest with themselves first.
I believe that this has gone on too long and if I do not truncate now I won't finish the novel one of my coworkers wrote tonight.
In all this, I believe.
In this, I believe...
I believe in using the thesaurus tab on dictionary.com to look up better words for 'different'. I believe in not being ashamed that that is where I found the word 'antithetic'.
I believe that most of the worlds pessimists are really just romantics. Hurt romantics but romantics with sensibilities.
I believe that you can hurt people close to you without knowing you are doing so. And in turn they can hurt you back, knowing they are doing so. And vice versa.
I believe that advil and wine make a great combination, no matter what Diane Sawyer said a couple weeks ago on Good Morning America.
I believe in comic relief mostly because I don't want to be seen as a huge posing sap.
I believe in the power of the animal you feed. Maybe they only pur when you come home because you're about to feed them, but they are purring for you. And nurturing something is a powerful feeling.
I believe in making fun of my sisters. I don't know why...but if I don't make fun of you ever, I REALLY don't like you. I believe that might be sick.
I believe in my doppelganger. She believes it's ok to be dark, morbid and grotesque. She also loves it when people tell her that what she writes is scary or it made the hairs on their arms stick up.
I believe in rational love, but only so someone can disprove that to me one day.
I believe in being vague on purpose.
I believe in emoticons. In text messaging. In not answering the damn phone if I don't want.
I believe in tormented people. In people who feel deeply. In people that can be honest with themselves first.
I believe that this has gone on too long and if I do not truncate now I won't finish the novel one of my coworkers wrote tonight.
In all this, I believe.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
The Coined Mouth
She swayed prettily in front of him as he stood in awe of her. His favorite shoes, the ones with the ankle strap. His favorite little shirt and skirt that now flowed with her body in tiny movements as the fabric brushed her legs the way his hands once did. He clung to the piece of paper, now moist with sweat from his palms. He stared at it transfixed, more lifeless than the girls body becoming more rigid with every passing minute.
She was beautiful, after all, swaying there. Her head slightly cocked to the side. Her long bangs tickling her eyelashes. She held her mouth in the same position as she did when he was inside of her. Her hair moving ever so slightly as to expose the part of her back she once loved having his perfectly shaped lips touch.
He didn't want her to stop moving. He pushed her leg with the palm of his hand. The wooden rafters creaked as the friction of the nylon rope scraped across them.
Thirty minutes...one hour...one and one half hours he sat swaying her body just to see the fabric of her skirt brush the back of her calves.
His phone rang...It was another girl. Vibrant, no doubt. And excellent lover, for sure. But she had something on her. For it is only in death that he expresses emotion other than fear and trepidation. Only in death can his empty, sallow soul feel the slightest twinge of love. He would never love the girl on the other end of the phone. The one he loved now swung lifeless from the wooden rafters in apartment 48B.
His phone rang again, and he answered.
He: Looks like I'm going to be in town this weekend.
Her: Oh really? Why?
He: Bad news (he said flippantly) a friend of mine just died. The service will probably be this weekend.
Her: What?!?! That's horrible. I'm so sorry, baby.
He: So, you have plans Friday?
Her: Actually, I'm in Chicago this weekend. I'm sorry to miss you.
He: Yeah.......me too.
He eulogized the the swaying girl nicely, using blatant Cathcer in the Rye references. Why had not he told her? It was and always will be, because she was still alive. Alive means fear for him. Trepidation for him. He would not allow it. Death, now...Death is liberation. He is now free to feel even more selfishly. That it is he with the immense pain. That he will have to live knowing that he loved her. He could have saved her. But he did not. He does not sacrifice. He lays down no offering.
He gazed down, alone, at her empty body encased in a meager wooden box. Her eyes were forever closed now. Her skin, waxy. Her hair, nestled under the back of her head, as she was far away meeting with Phlegyas.
She was beautiful, after all, swaying there. Her head slightly cocked to the side. Her long bangs tickling her eyelashes. She held her mouth in the same position as she did when he was inside of her. Her hair moving ever so slightly as to expose the part of her back she once loved having his perfectly shaped lips touch.
He didn't want her to stop moving. He pushed her leg with the palm of his hand. The wooden rafters creaked as the friction of the nylon rope scraped across them.
Thirty minutes...one hour...one and one half hours he sat swaying her body just to see the fabric of her skirt brush the back of her calves.
His phone rang...It was another girl. Vibrant, no doubt. And excellent lover, for sure. But she had something on her. For it is only in death that he expresses emotion other than fear and trepidation. Only in death can his empty, sallow soul feel the slightest twinge of love. He would never love the girl on the other end of the phone. The one he loved now swung lifeless from the wooden rafters in apartment 48B.
His phone rang again, and he answered.
He: Looks like I'm going to be in town this weekend.
Her: Oh really? Why?
He: Bad news (he said flippantly) a friend of mine just died. The service will probably be this weekend.
Her: What?!?! That's horrible. I'm so sorry, baby.
He: So, you have plans Friday?
Her: Actually, I'm in Chicago this weekend. I'm sorry to miss you.
He: Yeah.......me too.
He eulogized the the swaying girl nicely, using blatant Cathcer in the Rye references. Why had not he told her? It was and always will be, because she was still alive. Alive means fear for him. Trepidation for him. He would not allow it. Death, now...Death is liberation. He is now free to feel even more selfishly. That it is he with the immense pain. That he will have to live knowing that he loved her. He could have saved her. But he did not. He does not sacrifice. He lays down no offering.
He gazed down, alone, at her empty body encased in a meager wooden box. Her eyes were forever closed now. Her skin, waxy. Her hair, nestled under the back of her head, as she was far away meeting with Phlegyas.
I love you.
You selfish Fuck.
But, I do love you.
Only (she chuckles) because I'm gone.
No, goddammit, I LOVE YOU.
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempest and is never shaken.
He hated Shakespeare. Especially sonnets prolificated by movies. He hated many things, but even as she haunted him by thought, his selfish love flourished. He was free of her. And now, free to love only her, until the next one creates her own demise.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Things I Have to Keep Telling Myself…Revisted.
1. When someone tells you they are a douche bag the first time you meet them…believe them.
2. There is no need to eat Ramen Noodles at 3 in the morning no matter how many gin ‘n tonics you’ve had.
3. Sometimes taking a trip you can’t afford can be worth the debt.
4. Don’t believe boys. It’s just easier.
5. It’s a good idea to practices hexes and unforgivable curses just in case the person that introduced you to such things turns out to be a huge butthole.
6. Don’t buy into things like, “Just sing your favorite song from RENT and your asthma will go away.”
7. Pouting isn’t real when it comes from a boy, it’s just a way to get into your pants.
8. 1% of the worlds population is born without a conscience. Keep a list of the ones you know then practice this incantation “crucio”. Must be said with forcefulness.
9. Avada Kedavra Cho Chang
10. And whatever you do…Remember this last thought. Never…I repeat…NEVER get involved with people that live solely on blood money. In the end…they are all just like O.J.
2. There is no need to eat Ramen Noodles at 3 in the morning no matter how many gin ‘n tonics you’ve had.
3. Sometimes taking a trip you can’t afford can be worth the debt.
4. Don’t believe boys. It’s just easier.
5. It’s a good idea to practices hexes and unforgivable curses just in case the person that introduced you to such things turns out to be a huge butthole.
6. Don’t buy into things like, “Just sing your favorite song from RENT and your asthma will go away.”
7. Pouting isn’t real when it comes from a boy, it’s just a way to get into your pants.
8. 1% of the worlds population is born without a conscience. Keep a list of the ones you know then practice this incantation “crucio”. Must be said with forcefulness.
9. Avada Kedavra Cho Chang
10. And whatever you do…Remember this last thought. Never…I repeat…NEVER get involved with people that live solely on blood money. In the end…they are all just like O.J.
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