| The Most Remarkable Thing About Coming Home To You Is. . . |
[entries|friends|calendar] |
|
|
The Feeling of Being In Motion Again
|
|
|
|
[30 Oct 2005|08:49am] |
Last night I felt the weight of the next sixty years on my shoulder. My hands picked at the electrical tape at the edge of the stage and I thought of antlers splintering, fine brown hairs, and a rising cloud of dust. And at some point, frantically, I danced.
Once I sat on my mother's knee and listening to a roomful of men singing tragic songs about drowning lovers reaching up through something called the "briny deep." Once my grandfather watched metal walls sweat and heave and close together. Somewhere somebody is making love or raking their hands through soft damp dirt.
Every line is clearly dilineated. I want to be a portrait of living, breathing, fascination. Those aren't my words, but they are the best ones.
Someday I will see American right.
|
|
|
[28 Oct 2005|08:08pm] |
I got into a car accident and I still have no internet at home.
On the plus side, I'm a pirate.
|
|
|
[20 Oct 2005|03:10pm] |
You'd think that lately, all I write is papers about the cultural implications of Chicken McNuggets and the philosophical implications of Lewis Carroll. The truth is, that's probably true, although I'm hoping to shut myself in and write a poem or two this weekend. Senior year/the recent move/Chinese homework is really wearing me down. Wo xing Ni; jiao Ni Feiping. Wo xuexi Hanyu. Zhe shi wo de nan pengyou. Ta shi hen guexing all the goddamn time (not that I'm complaining).
All of this is complicated by the new house, which is lovely, but still lacks phone and internet. I'm not too concerned because the air and leaves and neighborhood are lovely. I now feel obligated to actually pick up my dog's shit when I walk her in the morning. All the lawns around us are so goddamned well manicured and republican. For awhile, my cell phone was broken, too, but Cingular sent me a new one. If I used to have your phone number, I probably don't now. Call me or drop me a line and let me know who and where you are.
I went to a bonfire the other night at Patty Carroll's house. I only knew about four out of a dozen people and that old familiar feeling of shyness crept over me. I'm still not good with big groups of strangers unless there is an obvious nerd in the bunch with whom I can discuss comics, folk music, Star Trek, art, or literature (only prose; I've realized that when people want to discuss poetry, I'm in for disasterously bad poetry recitations). These were people in bands, though. I'm usually not good with people in bands, because they usually seem to have the cool, slick attitudes that people who played sports in high school had. They were perfectly nice people, of course, just not the sort that I'm good at interacting with. Anyway, Danielle saw my awkwardness and was nice enough to scorch a marshmallow for me, which was delicious.
I really should get away from this and back to reading Heart of Darkness. I can't wait until I have the energy and drive to be artistic again. Until then, it's bitten off nailpolish and secrets in page margins for me.
|
|
| "I Look like a Farmer, but I'm a Lover." |
[13 Oct 2005|12:59pm] |
The windows fog up on your commute through the rain as you press your feet into the soggy upholstery to the rhythm of Bo Diddly. Last night you stayed up late sharing comic (karmic?) histories with your Big Sissy, shared connections and obsessions with nostalgia. For that you'll pay with under-eye bags and coffee breath, but that's all right. You're leaving the wrinkled water-pocked wallpaper behind you now, and one day you'll both forget about how low they've become, the stained floors and the clouds painted over and the illogical curves of the walls. Memory will bring you back to the expansiveness of youth, cathedral panel ceilings in the smallest historic mansions and you'll forget, but it's for the best. It always is.
When did childhood end? When you stopped being sisters and started being friends.
|
|
|
[09 Oct 2005|06:18pm] |
In order to destress today, I went into Target and pressed all the "try me" buttons on every toy I could find.
Yesterday was apple picking and pie making in the rain with my two favorite men. Pictures soon. I fell asleep with Jordan as my easychair watching "Pleasantville." Hey guys, I love you, okay? The only way it could have been better is if Lori were there. Lola, you were missed.
I used to say such pretty things in my online journal. Now I save it all for poetry and love letters. Sometime in January, I'll share with you guys what I've been writing. It's too important to let it leak now.
My team won.
Apparently, there is a child porn dungeon in my new basement.
|
|
| I kicked the garbage can when I heard about this: |
[27 Sep 2005|11:16am] |
|
My mother called me today and told me that the closing on the house (and therefore our move) is being delayed because of some sort of lawyerly paper work thing. I have no idea when we're moving now, and I'd been trying to plan around it. I just want to get it over with, like peeling off a band-aid (tm).
|
|
| I was saying "Get Me Out of Here" before I was even born! |
[24 Sep 2005|04:52pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 creative |
] |
New places:
I absolutely adore Jordan's new apartment. Of course, the fact that his one roommate is one of my closest school friends helps (and his other roommate is a former coworker of mine who is also an excellent person). Last night, to celebrate the moving-in of Jordan's mattress, we had a home-made sushi night. I can't believe I actually remembered how to make sushi after all these years though it came out really good and tasty. We drank beer brewed in Newark and ate imitation crab-stick and avocado rolls (my attempts to make inside-out California rolls were not pretty though they were delicious) and stayed up and talked. Later, Jordan and I settled into his room. It's spacious and has nice morning light through the window and something about it reminds me of my grandfather's house, in a really good way, maybe the tiled-ceilings and the old fashioned light fixture. It's very Jordany, already, and I'm just very glad he moved in. I plan on hanging out there a lot since they have a genesis and all. Also, he's only a half-hour drive from North Plainfield. This is closer than we've ever lived to one another, which is a nice change of pace from the good ol' fifty minute commutes we'd gotten used to taking over the past three years.
Jordan is very sweet and understanding and even shared his brand new bed with me, which was terribly comfortable.
We got IHOP in the morning, then I was off to North Plainfield for one final look-through of our new house before the closing.
( Pictures of 624 Ayres Avenue! )
So yeah, I'm pretty psyched about this. Also good news: Tim Liu loves my poetry, and I won an olympus xa2 on ebay for $17.
|
|
| People with Interests are Interesting. |
[21 Sep 2005|01:41pm] |
LJ Interests meme results
- billie holiday:
I have a tape my mom made of "Billie's Best" a long time ago and I love to play it on rainy days in my car. - coney island:
I love seedy beauty , dirty beauty, cheesiness, and nathan's kosher franks. - foreign films:
There was a period of time when I wouldn't watch movies from America. There was just too much out there--mostly from France and Japan--that was too damn good. Incidentally, the last movie I absolutely adored was Thai, "Last Life in the Universe." Watch it, now. - highways:
I grew up walking up and down the weeds on route 22. I think that every town in New Jersey has a road that's like that, that plays an important role in the adolescence of some grubby kid. Also, we spend a lot of time in traffic these days, don't you think? - lightning bugs:
Not just literal lightning bugs, although those are nice too. Metaphorical lightning bugs, flashy girls who get all the boys, do lots of drugs, and die before morning if you keep them in a jar. I'm not one of them. - ned block:
Ha. I was writing a big ol' philosophy paper when I wrote my interests, and I liked what he had to say, and how he said it. - popping zits:
Really. I know, I know, it's disgusting. But this doesn't only refer to my own zits, but zits of family members and friends. I prefer big ol' dangerous whiteheads. I can't stand it when girls sitting in front of me in class have them on their shoulders because I just want to attack them. - shakezula:
My original handle on the internet scrabble club. - the white album:
I poured over this record every night when I was twelve. There's something about the music of your youth that stays with you. Plus, it's the most diverse Beatles album, with a lot of folk, some rock, and even a dash of metal. Other bands weren't doing that at the time, at least not as well. - zorak:
Zorak was the reason Jordan and I got together. He's my favorite Space Ghost character, and was my avatar on makeoutclub.com.
Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.
|
|
|
[21 Sep 2005|10:18am] |
Frustarded.
My car started to overheat on the parkway yesterday. This was accompanied by a burning rubber smell. I somehow managed to make it home, which probably wasn't the best idea to even attempt, but I was bloated to the size of a manatee and having horrible stomach pains thanks to the period from hell. Having to bring the car to the mechanic today instead of going to school and work is a huge deal. After paying my tuition bill this summer, I really can't afford to miss even a day of work and, even though I can probably easily catch up, after last semester's debacle (missing school for death in the family/funeral and a week long sinus infection from hell) I'm kind of phobic about missing class at all.
My mother doesn't seem to understand this. (I'm reminded of how, in high school, she liked to tell me that I wasn't allowed to go to school until I picked up my wet towels from the floor. Some priorities). Last night, I asked her to show me how to put coolant in the car, and she stood outside and whined about how she's having hot flashes for twenty minutes, and then, when she realized the cap was stuck-on, glanced around the neighborhood for a "man" to help her (mind you, this was at 10:30 at night and no one was around). Finally, she agreed to drive with me to the mechanic this morning, and possibly go in late to work. She wakes me up at seven, we go over around eight, she yells at me for having the seat so far up in my car (sorry mom, I'm short!), and then tells me to wait at the gas station for an hour to talk to the mechanic because she doesn't want to be late for work. I really didn't want to sit around outside a gas station for an hour alone with one middle aged gas station attendent. Hell, I thought, this is really my mother's car (as she often reminds me), despite the fact that I've put about a thousand dollars into repairing it since I've had it, and she's done nothing for its upkeep, even refusing to drive with me to the gas station most of the time, telling me (in 90+ degree weather) that I can walk across town/a major highway. Anyway, she told me that she'd call up the mechanic from work and talk to him about it, which made me feel a lot better, but I just called her and she hasn't spoken to him. Which doesn't help at all.
I know this all sounds like major spoiled-girl whining. I know that my mother's job is important too, that it sucks to be menopausal, that I'm twenty-one and should be a big-girl about these things, but sometimes, I need some help. I know very little about cars, though I do my best to keep this one in good shape, and I often feel like when I talk to mechanics alone I get ripped off because of this. My mother refused to "let" me buy my own car on several occasions, saying I couldn't afford it, and that my grandfather's car is fine, but really, it sat in his driveway for over a year unused, and while the milage is low, it's still acting like an unreliable clunker. I'm scared to drive it a lot of the time and I really need a car I can count on right now. I don't know what the conclusion to all this is, but I'm pretty stressed right now anyway. Though my classes are good, I absolutely hate The Falcon (staff nickname for the new boss at work for a year while our awesome laid-back beatnik boss is on sabbatical) and feel totally tense whenever she is around. I'm finally getting used to commuting, having fun listening to old tapes and the radio, but it still is stressful to drive about two hours a day. And we're moving. And my life is being packed up. And we haven't set a moving date so I have no idea how long I'm going to be living out of boxes for.
Last night I had a dream that my dentist was on LSD.
EDIT:
(bear in mind, my mother told me that she'd call me as soon as she spoke to him; I call her up 40 minutes later to see if I should just handle it myself, if she's busy at work)
Me: Hello?
Mom: . . .
Me: Hello?
Mom: What?
Me: Do you want me to call the mechanic?
Mom: What?
Me: Hello?
Mom: What?
Me: Do you want me to call the mechanic?
Mom: Do what you want, yeah, call him.
Me: Ok
Mom: No, I called him already. He's busy, he'll do what he can. I can't talk now. *click*
Gee, thanks.
|
|
|
[19 Sep 2005|06:55pm] |
Jeff made this for me, because I complained about something on myspace.
I should complain more often.
So far, Mondays and Wednesdays are impenatrably boring. Chinese is the bright spot on an otherwise dismally dry academic schedule. I've already learned how to write and pronounce the Chinese character for horse.
Moving in about two weeks. The grind of packing is definitely getting to me, emotionally and physically. I haven't really said good-bye to 28 Harrison yet, but expect pictures of crevices in my house soon: dusty windowsills, the place where I painted my initials on the basement wall when I was nine.
Tonight's the pizza party/employee meeting at the WC. I call it dinner theater. We'll see how it goes. Just in case, I brought my Leonardo and Donatello action figures to defend me.
Dave Brown is buying my bass guitar. In exchange, I'll be getting about three weeks of gas.
I like a cute boy. That's not news.
|
|
| The Commuter |
[13 Sep 2005|12:13am] |
The Commuter: A Prologue
You wash your hair in the bath tub, mermaid-like tangling
fingers through perfumed water, leaving scented prints on
library books and come up smelling like coconut and ginger,
exotic and epicurian.
It's late already. Tomorrow you will drive along the eastern
edge of New Jersey, drumming your fingers, windows down,
off-key harmonizing with college radio and contemplating your
next tattoo. Already you've cultivated an intimate relationship
with gas prices, like your grandfather who discussed only two
issues of economics: the cost of gasoline and the price of
bananas per pound. He used to stoop over to pick up
pocket-change. Lately you find yourself doing the same thing.
The only time that you own is two chapters in the bath, a
dog-walk in the morning, but you keep yourself tethered to
diner trips and sushi-outtings. You may not be quite who you
envisioned: she is thinner, longer haired, white-crooked teeth
and biting, stupider and perfected. But you feel yourself
whole-ish then, squeezing out another cup from your teabag and
cracking sex-jokes that the other girls wouldn't dare. And so
you find yourself turning your headlights on again, out after
ten with all the splattered road kill.
One of your best friends has gone abroad for a semester. The
other pieces of your heart have scattered, to Brooklyn and
Hopatcong, five highways and a satellite away. If you reached
out your arm you wouldn't touch anyone you loved so you extend
yourself in words, in time.
There is a man whose tapered fingers have tangled in yours
since the beginning of college. This summer, you had lunch with
a boy you loved intermittently through adolescence. There came
a moment in his truck when you knew you could have kissed him
if you wanted, but didn't, and you felt a certain inflated
pride in that. Your mailman is the one who matters, and you
send him microscopic love-letters folded into thirty-thirds.
The leaves are changing all along the park-way, routes 78 and
3. You won't sleep enough again tonight, but when they ask you,
you tell them you're happy. And it's true. You're more yourself
than you have ever been, singing along to "fat bottom girls" in
your chevrolet, 21 and so vividly limerant.
|
|
|
[12 Sep 2005|07:26pm] |
Medieval Times (tm) was amazing. Our knight won, but then was cruelly slain by the evil announcer guy. I have a picture, which Jordan spent ten dollars for, and out of which his mother helpfully edited the bags under his eyes, but no way to resize it on my work computer. I'll spare you guys for now, but when I do post it, check out my awesome under-eye bags, which his mother left in.
Also amazing: the boyfriend; my anniversary gift is either to have my chestpiece colored or (and I may choose this option because it shouldn't be his place to pay for part of a memorial tattoo) to pay for more ink. I'm thinking tigerlilies, on my thigh, and some Japaneses maple leaves. I just reread that paragraph and realized that I sound like a total scenester-tattoo-slut. Gross.
Eric is gone for a year. Lots of homework, and locks of love.
|
|
|
[10 Sep 2005|09:53am] |
I spent a beautiful, delicious day with John yesterday. We had a two-man dinner party and cooked thin-sliced organic steaks in Australian spices, a big spinach salad with walnuts and crunchy bean sprouts, and enough home-made pumpkin soup to last me at least a week. Later, we went by Scoops for entirely too much ice cream dessert (I had key lime pie ice cream in a pretzel cone), then back home for a couple of episodes of "Twin Peaks" and "Freaks and Geeks". I'd never seen "Twin Peaks" before, and I know this is considered sacrilege by some, but so far it really hasn't thrilled me, except in a usual David Lynch-creepster way, like a bad dream that you want to get out of, which isn't exactly a sensation I like to induce.
Whenever I spent time with John, I'm reminded of how similar we are in fundamental ways. A lot of these could be considered negative ways, as we both have battled with shyness, paranoia, and insecurity for large parts of our lives. The irony is that our collaboration doesn't usually end up in the exhibition of these emotions, but the affirmation that our fundamental selves are not people with reason to be shy, paranoid, or insecure. Anyway, I popped some of John's zits (always fun) and we talked about our goals for the autumn. It was a really nice cap to a really nice week.
Of course, I have high hopes for September. I don't really hope for organized notebooks any longer, but instead, hope that I'll get to spend lots of time with people from the North Jersey are who I didn't see nearly enough of this summer (Dave Brown, Danielle, Steve, Jeff, and Jess, this means you!) and hope to meet some new people who inspire me. I want to go to fun parties and have interesting conversations about books. I want to work on feeling more like myself around Jordan's friends (I contrast myself Thursday to myself Wednesday and realize that I was a watered-down version of myself, my shy self, and that normal-me is much more fun). I want to see plenty of John and Lori. I want to take care of my relationship so that it can continue to be a source of positivity in both our lives. I've never been much of one for new years resolutions. I just want to strive for constant improvement. I also want to go apple picking. Is that too much to ask?!
Classes this semester should be easy, no problem. I already have about thirty poems written for my independent study. Chinese looks like it should be the class to look forward to, while the work load in my other classes seems bearable enough, even if the actual weight of the books might be a bit annoying. I'm excited about moving, and about Jordan moving into Jeff's apartment, and even, a little bit, about coffee and football.
Anyway, pumpkin soup and Saturday morning cartoons are calling to me. I'm going to Medieval Times (tm) tonight with Jordan for an early celebration of our third anniversary, and I have no idea what to wear. Life. Is hard.
|
|
|
[06 Sep 2005|10:34pm] |
Today I got excited for the first day of school. I put on a courderoy skirt and made my way to Wayne, where I bought books, gawked at what they've done to the student center, and caught up a bit with Steve, Dave, and Danielle. More catching up is due tomorrow at the King George at 8ish. Everyone should come and say hello. I refuse to miss everyone just because I'm commuting.
I have a lot of grainy, black and white photos that I would love to share with you. I have other secrets that are mine alone.
I'm writing pretty things. Just not here.
|
|
| More Closet Finds: |
[01 Sep 2005|11:55am] |
In-jokes, age 17:
Whatever happened to the old days?
Three men could live together and not be gay
The epitome of cool was DJ
Before MR. Bear was thrown away
Now Michelles got boobs
Now we've got nothing to lose.
It's time the world knows
the painful truth
Yanni does equal Danny Tanner.
The super Greek is a super dad.
Yanni does equal Danny Tanner
I think the world's gone super mad.
Chorus:
Yanni equals Danny Tanner
Yanni equals Danny Tanner
Yanni equals Danny Tanner
No way jose!
|
|
| Found in the back of my closet: |
[31 Aug 2005|12:49pm] |
A story I wrote (committed to paper by sister/stenographer Emily, her spelling left unchanged), age 3:
Once upon a time there was a monster. A boy killed him. The monster got in his room. The boy was going home then it was morning. There was a friend at the boy's house. The friend played with him nicly. They went on a swing set at the park.
They went on the sliding bord and saw a monster. The boy killed him. Then they went to the friends house with the monster. They saw a cool girl. She said that they are cool too!
A monster was in the closet that night.
The boy ate the monster and threw up and had to go in bed. Then it was morning and a gigantic bird came and tried to eat the boy but the boy got away into the frui bowl and eat fruit.
He gets a tummy ace very bad.
Then he goes to Shop Rite and buys a V.C.R. tape with a mean bear on it and he buys Crispy Bears sugar ciril. And he goes home and wact the movie and the bear comes out and eats the boy.
THE END
|
|
| Song For New Yorkers |
[16 Aug 2005|12:13pm] |
"Probably most of y'all, when you graduate, are going to move somewhere like New York where there's all manner of action. I tell you, action is no good. You know what's good? SLEEP, and FOOD. In Iowa, we've got plenty of sleep, and we've got plenty of corn, so life is good." - John Darnielle, of the Mountain Goats
I might be commuting from home-home next semester, but I haven't decided yet.
|
|
| please don't put me in that orange jumpsuit. |
[09 Aug 2005|07:04pm] |
Why is it that I still can't escape my love for the mythology of the ninja turtles? I think that everyone thought my pizza&turtles "party" was supposed to be a joke. However, the older I get, the more I appreciate the nuances of their sewar-did (haha) tale. No, really. Not only are these teenagers, but they're reproductively isolated teenagers (though I think that Venus DeMilo was an interesting idea, the turtles are better as a pack of lone-wolves, completely mortal with no hope of extending the "line") who physically embody the way most teenagers feel: hideous, deformed, alone. Someone needs to make a "Dark Knight"-esque turtles comic. Or did they already? I've heard that the original series was much, much darker, but I've yet to read it.
Still, all of this does not explain my enduring love for the music from the Coming Out Of Their Shells Tour. Even I see the latent homosexuality in the title (they wore beadazzled outfits, too!) and the idea of a turtles concert is just ridiculous. Nonetheless, warm fuzzies. Now you can have the warm fuzzies too.
I've been sewing a lot, dresses and tops out of old sheets.
( Take a look! )
Jordan and I are going to see the mountain goats at the bowery ballroom on October 29th. Anyone (over 21) wanna come-with?
|
|
| "Dude, you have to give my boyfriend a blowjob and let me watch." |
[05 Aug 2005|01:19am] |
Jordan is awesome. Rubbing his face against my face is awesome. Reading him chapters out of Ramona and Her Father while basking in the window-unit air conditioning is also awesome. He laughs at all of my jokes, but more importantly (as he laughs at everyone's jokes), he makes me laugh. Plus, he smells like soap.
Icky things:
After nine years of wearing a bra, I have discovered that I'm actually a C-cup. My attempts to learn how to pee standing up (the "learn to whistle" method) have yet to yield any postive results.
Non-Icky things:
I've been spending this summer taking short struts on nude beaches, taking long sweaty walks with the pit-bull through town, reading lots of books (Fiction! Joyce Carol Oates! Philip K. Dick!), enjoying the texture of oil pastels against construction paper, taking polaroids of illicit activities, and missing people when I am not enjoying their company. The twins have helped carry the season; a year ago we all felt like we were brilliantly burning fireflies; this summer we are more moderate in everything except for our illicit activities. I still want to go to the boardwalk. I still want to visit Lori's new house. I still want to go camping. But this summer has been colored by good-love and fireworks, photographs and long car rides and good phone conversation. I'm happy.
Even if I did get pee on my leg.
Oh, and for those who care about these things, I added some new (different) photos to my myspace page.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
going2georgia's journal
Nerds wear glasses