*I will call it "Internet" in my blog title even though a part of me wants to call it something gOoFy like, "the Internets" or "the World Wide Mirror" or "Sandra Bullock's 1995 project."
*Every single movie that has ever been made came out in 1995. I swear. Go check IMDB right now, but first finish reading this nonsense.
*The Dalai Lama sure knows how to call me out on my shit.
*I am listening to a song called "Secret Fountain" right now. Kids, this isn't a song by a band that will be featured at Coachella (did I spell that correctly? "Couch" and "Ella"? oh wait - COACH, like that Craig T. Nelson/Jerry Van Dyke/Shelley Fabares project) - this is a song that will be featured in some massage parlor with crystals and chakras and crazy cat ladies that teach their pussies how to paint from the soul. (Which pussy am I talking about?! You decide, perverts.)
*When people find out I write poetry, they ask if I write love sonnets. Not that there's anything wrong with love sonnets (except that I find most of them boring), but that's just not MY THING. When I inform them that I write more "surreal poetry," they give me a blank stare and then proceed to never ask me another personal question again.
*It may just be the Spike talking (am I sponsored by Spike? I just miiiiight be!!!), but I feel incredibly confident with myself and my opinions and my beliefs lately. I know some of the things I say/do/write could be offensive to some or disappointing or worrisome, but I am okay with that - not that I like upsetting people, but my dad always quoted Rick Nelson when I was growing up - "You see, you can't please everyone, so you've got to please yourself." And it has finally sunk in! So I'll continue to get tattoos (well, maybe), I'll continue to be a heathen Buddhist in Mormon Utah (of course, I'll move to Sweden eventually), I'll continue to say "fuckin' fucked up, fucko!" if the situation calls for such language, and I'll continue to cut my hair all by myself (while simultaneously cutting the back of my neck). THANKS FOR "GARDEN PARTY," RICKY! Truer words have never been spoken (except they probably have).
*SOOOOO many parenthetical statements/questions/exclamations. (And they are all very necessary.)
*Elliott Smith, your music will always comfort and un-comfort me.
*This post is stressing me out. Time to be done with it and to take another swig of Spike while wearing this Spike hat and Spike racing suit and having many Spike themed thought bubbles.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
haircuts/stucriah
I opened the Spike and I opened up Blogger so now I need to (I didn't finish this sentence because I immediately stood up, went into the bathroom, and cut a good chunk of my hair OFF. In a text to a friend I wrote, "I feel so Olympia, WA right now. Like, 'Look at my asymmetrical haircut that I cut by myself while listening to The Mountain Goats and drinking kombucha that I got at the co-op.'" Okay, so I wasn't listening to The Mountain Goats or drinking kombucha - we all know I was listening to the severely critical voices in my head while drinking synthetic cocaine, but I'm not anal about the details. Anal? Anal is "Lana" backwards and that would be a pretty funny observation if I had an enemy named Lana, but as of right now I don't. In fact, I think I'm on fairly good terms with everyone in my life. How long will that last? This is a question that doesn't have a clear-cut answer. Speaking of cut, did I mention I just cut my hair? I did? Well, Spike, you cause temporary (fingers crossed) amnesia. You also make me really loosey goosey! I feel so sexy right now. God, where is an open pair of legs when you need one, you know? You know. You all know what I am talking about because we are all HUMAN. Humans have desires and fantasies and needs and cravings and all of this leads to SUFFERING, but it can also lead to a really great time.)
So I think I'll go to the bookstore right now and freak out on the general public. And by "freak out on the general public" I mean "read the fiction in The New Yorker while avoiding eye contact with everyone."
By the way, Nic Cage is probably one of the three Nephites.
So I think I'll go to the bookstore right now and freak out on the general public. And by "freak out on the general public" I mean "read the fiction in The New Yorker while avoiding eye contact with everyone."
By the way, Nic Cage is probably one of the three Nephites.
future plan$
Guess what I did?
No, I didn't steal any bananas from Good Earth.
No, I didn't make fun of any Hobbits.
Pretty sure I didn't become a drug dealer's bodyguard.
I bought a Spike! JUST so I can blog!
Oh yes, I am well on my way to becoming a rational, sensible, pastoral individual!
No, I didn't steal any bananas from Good Earth.
No, I didn't make fun of any Hobbits.
Pretty sure I didn't become a drug dealer's bodyguard.
I bought a Spike! JUST so I can blog!
Oh yes, I am well on my way to becoming a rational, sensible, pastoral individual!
Monday, January 23, 2012
Welcome to Our Crowd by Hettie Jones
Here is a picture of Hettie Jones, a great Beat poet and also an outcast of her Jewish family (ACCORDING TO OUR BIBLE, WIKIPEDIA.ORG):
Read more poetry! And read more female writers! And as a general rule of thumb, don't listen to Cat Power while it's gloomy outside. But listen to Cat Power any other time because she is the shit. And now here is a poem by Ms. Hettie Jones:
Welcome to Our Crowd
I've slept
in every room except
the kitchen, and that
includes alone or
with others, in symphony
or cacophony. Now
the man in his socks, the one
asleep on his own pillow,
the tender lover, curious
youth, bossy fuck
--all these clothed and naked visions--
are sharing particular angles
of light, the rushed or
lingering presence of time.
They hang off the splintering
beams. On the uneven floor
we all lie down in layers,
a hologram of lovers, his pillow
under another one's head,
the constant drift of old perfume, a jacket
left behind on a chair, shoes
later buried with the dead.
They needed heels. The jacket is minus
a button. Torn sheets, the windows
unwashed. We breathe and
don't breathe, lie, pass
in the hall, fall
into all our arms, live again
gone soon
Read more poetry! And read more female writers! And as a general rule of thumb, don't listen to Cat Power while it's gloomy outside. But listen to Cat Power any other time because she is the shit. And now here is a poem by Ms. Hettie Jones:
Welcome to Our Crowd
I've slept
in every room except
the kitchen, and that
includes alone or
with others, in symphony
or cacophony. Now
the man in his socks, the one
asleep on his own pillow,
the tender lover, curious
youth, bossy fuck
--all these clothed and naked visions--
are sharing particular angles
of light, the rushed or
lingering presence of time.
They hang off the splintering
beams. On the uneven floor
we all lie down in layers,
a hologram of lovers, his pillow
under another one's head,
the constant drift of old perfume, a jacket
left behind on a chair, shoes
later buried with the dead.
They needed heels. The jacket is minus
a button. Torn sheets, the windows
unwashed. We breathe and
don't breathe, lie, pass
in the hall, fall
into all our arms, live again
gone soon
buddha bars bourbon explosions
I find it odd that it's sometimes called a "remote control." The word "remote" and the word "control" are two words that play a major role in my emotional life, but when you put them together you have just described something that is a major role in switching from Keeping Up with the Kardashians to Celebrity Wife Swap.
The Buddha walks into a bar and realizes that this bar only serves bourbon. This Buddha orders the bourbon, drinks it down, and then checks into a motel room with NO Bible. The Buddha is disappointed, to say the least, but also extremely wasted, so the Buddha passes out with his army boots still on.
That Buddha joke was perhaps my finest joke.
Sometimes I don't wash my hands after going to the bathroom. This is a new thing for me, as I was pretty OCD in the past about having clean clean clean everything. I will wash my hands if I am using a public restroom or at someone's abode, but if I am just by myself at my house and I have had a lot of liquid, I know that it's almost a little silly to wash my hands when I will just be peeing 20 minutes from now. My skin is so dry! I hate dry hands! And apparently I don't hate pee particles on doorknobs!
Let's see. That whole "I'm gonna go without caffeine" thing sure didn't work out. But let's also see that if I keep restricting myself, I'm going to see myself explode. Imagine seeing yourself explode and realizing that you have no control over the situation, that you are now truly remote without a body - and now grab the remote control and press pause. Look! There you are! In a 1,000,000,000,000,001 little pieces. You are adorable.
The Buddha walks into a bar and realizes that this bar only serves bourbon. This Buddha orders the bourbon, drinks it down, and then checks into a motel room with NO Bible. The Buddha is disappointed, to say the least, but also extremely wasted, so the Buddha passes out with his army boots still on.
That Buddha joke was perhaps my finest joke.
Sometimes I don't wash my hands after going to the bathroom. This is a new thing for me, as I was pretty OCD in the past about having clean clean clean everything. I will wash my hands if I am using a public restroom or at someone's abode, but if I am just by myself at my house and I have had a lot of liquid, I know that it's almost a little silly to wash my hands when I will just be peeing 20 minutes from now. My skin is so dry! I hate dry hands! And apparently I don't hate pee particles on doorknobs!
Let's see. That whole "I'm gonna go without caffeine" thing sure didn't work out. But let's also see that if I keep restricting myself, I'm going to see myself explode. Imagine seeing yourself explode and realizing that you have no control over the situation, that you are now truly remote without a body - and now grab the remote control and press pause. Look! There you are! In a 1,000,000,000,000,001 little pieces. You are adorable.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
sleep eat work tweet repeat
I went on a walk today (wearing SHADES of course, mostly to keep the Sundance paparazzi away, but also because the snow made everything so fuggin' bright). I walked through my church (nature), which means I walked through the trees in the park and stared at the mountains feeling perfectly inferior. I could start talking all about the drive to commodify nature, but boooring - you would much rather read about my emotional breakdowns and feelings of despair, right? Right.
I called my dad while on my nature church walk. I am always happy when I talk to my dad. I used to call him much more often, but then I suddenly became employed and realized that having a job actually takes up a bit of time and that I forget to do anything else but sleep eat work tweet eat sleep. So, that's the life of a cashier - and that's also why I started crying to my dad. It should be noted that I don't cry very often in front of my dad - like, hardly ever. The last time I cried in front of him was in St. Helens when I went running outside, got lost, and then tripped over the sidewalk in front of a KFC and cut up my knees and hands. I limped back to the hotel all sweaty and bloody and embarrassed and just broke down when he opened the door. Then I drank a Powerade and watched The Colbert Report.
What was I saying/typing/saying through the magic of typing? Oh yes. Crying. Cashiering. Caffeinated calculus camping (not really the last one, I was just on an alliteration roll). I just feel stuck. I'm almost 28 with a college degree and I am bagging protein powders while making strained small talk with young coworkers about their double dates to Chili's. I'm such a white privileged person right now, aren't I? Here I have a job in a tough economy and I am complaining. I realize most of the time that I am pretty damn lucky to have a pretty easy job that pretty much pays for what I need it to pay for right now. Yet I also realize that I am not working towards anything else - I am not applying for grad school (like I tell everyone I am), I am not making the wisest choices concerning relationships, I am not actively looking for a sangha (which is super important to me), I am just not doing much of anything but making it through each shift without freaking the fuck out...
...And maybe that's okay. Maybe survival is what I should aim for right now. Life has its feasts and its famines. Things won't permanently be like this - clocking out always comes, even when it seems like time has stopped moving. But I can't just keep doing nothing... I mean, doing nothing is doing something, but... I need to move. I need to get up and get out and continue. What to do? I don't have to do the "one perfect thing." There isn't one perfect thing. Maybe I need to give up on the idea that I am "supposed" to be someone/something and just do a lot of things. Maybe I volunteer somewhere for a month and it's a horrible experience and I run out of money? Oh well. Maybe I move close to a Buddhist center and have to work at another pseudo health food store - but at least I'll be close to a sangha. Maybe I go somewhere with absolutely no plan and no directions and just see what happens.
Bottom line: It's time I start living a life for me and not for you and you and even you. It's time I start looking at what is important to me, what I value, and into what I want to invest my heart. And it's definitely time I stop selling myself short and start realizing that I am an achingly amazing person.
I called my dad while on my nature church walk. I am always happy when I talk to my dad. I used to call him much more often, but then I suddenly became employed and realized that having a job actually takes up a bit of time and that I forget to do anything else but sleep eat work tweet eat sleep. So, that's the life of a cashier - and that's also why I started crying to my dad. It should be noted that I don't cry very often in front of my dad - like, hardly ever. The last time I cried in front of him was in St. Helens when I went running outside, got lost, and then tripped over the sidewalk in front of a KFC and cut up my knees and hands. I limped back to the hotel all sweaty and bloody and embarrassed and just broke down when he opened the door. Then I drank a Powerade and watched The Colbert Report.
What was I saying/typing/saying through the magic of typing? Oh yes. Crying. Cashiering. Caffeinated calculus camping (not really the last one, I was just on an alliteration roll). I just feel stuck. I'm almost 28 with a college degree and I am bagging protein powders while making strained small talk with young coworkers about their double dates to Chili's. I'm such a white privileged person right now, aren't I? Here I have a job in a tough economy and I am complaining. I realize most of the time that I am pretty damn lucky to have a pretty easy job that pretty much pays for what I need it to pay for right now. Yet I also realize that I am not working towards anything else - I am not applying for grad school (like I tell everyone I am), I am not making the wisest choices concerning relationships, I am not actively looking for a sangha (which is super important to me), I am just not doing much of anything but making it through each shift without freaking the fuck out...
...And maybe that's okay. Maybe survival is what I should aim for right now. Life has its feasts and its famines. Things won't permanently be like this - clocking out always comes, even when it seems like time has stopped moving. But I can't just keep doing nothing... I mean, doing nothing is doing something, but... I need to move. I need to get up and get out and continue. What to do? I don't have to do the "one perfect thing." There isn't one perfect thing. Maybe I need to give up on the idea that I am "supposed" to be someone/something and just do a lot of things. Maybe I volunteer somewhere for a month and it's a horrible experience and I run out of money? Oh well. Maybe I move close to a Buddhist center and have to work at another pseudo health food store - but at least I'll be close to a sangha. Maybe I go somewhere with absolutely no plan and no directions and just see what happens.
Bottom line: It's time I start living a life for me and not for you and you and even you. It's time I start looking at what is important to me, what I value, and into what I want to invest my heart. And it's definitely time I stop selling myself short and start realizing that I am an achingly amazing person.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
her plog and bearls
Rockstar, you are NOT a Spike. But you were also only a dollar (at Smith's! sale! go now! capitalization is Inconsistent!), so now you are all I can taste.
Those last eight words - "so now you are all I can taste" - sound so sexy. I wish this blog was strictly erotic poetry and fiction (more like NON-fiction) written by me, but instead it's a bunch of manic, self-loathing, second-guessing words thrown together. WHICH IS TOTALLY COOL. That's why we have blogs! And diaries and pills and those lucky chosen few who get to hear us complain constantly (because to everyone else we are "with it" and have our "shit together").
I still like my blog, even when it is full of parentheticals and too-honest-confessions. Sure, my blog may essentially be a pair of sunglasses, but at least I am not getting anything squirted into my eye. See! I did it again! I really should look into the erotic poetry business - like it's even a business. It's an art.
Those last eight words - "so now you are all I can taste" - sound so sexy. I wish this blog was strictly erotic poetry and fiction (more like NON-fiction) written by me, but instead it's a bunch of manic, self-loathing, second-guessing words thrown together. WHICH IS TOTALLY COOL. That's why we have blogs! And diaries and pills and those lucky chosen few who get to hear us complain constantly (because to everyone else we are "with it" and have our "shit together").
I still like my blog, even when it is full of parentheticals and too-honest-confessions. Sure, my blog may essentially be a pair of sunglasses, but at least I am not getting anything squirted into my eye. See! I did it again! I really should look into the erotic poetry business - like it's even a business. It's an art.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
new year's resolutions
Did I ever share with you friendly followers my New Year's resolutions? I'm not sure I did. Well, here they are, in no particular order:
I finished the damn survey! I am a survivor!
Yep. I'm back again. Stalking was unsuccessful. I'll never make it as a private detective, but I'm sure as hell gonna make it as a public detective. Orem Meg here! I'm the mayor and the detective of this town and you all are very well aware of it!
11. Last crush
Shut up, survey! I don't owe you any answers!
12. Favorite song
I don't think I have a favorite song anymore, but when I was in high school I was all about Simon & Garfunkel's "America." It was so romantic. I imagined a life like the one in the song - boarding a greyhound, reading magazines, smoking cigarettes, sleeping with Paul Simon, and so forth. Turns out none of those things came true except the last one.
13. Childhood memory
Just any childhood memory? I remember accidentally finding the game Boggle under my mom and dad's bed. It was around Christmas time and I just knew that game was a present for me. I felt like I had ruined Christmas by finding Boggle, so I started crying and I probably prayed to Mormon Jesus for forgiveness.
14. Something you'd change about yourself
I would change my constant desire to change something about myself.
15. Best friend
Laura Beth will be a BFF for life (4 lyfe) as well as my sister Heather.
16. Favorite food
The potential vegan in me is grossed out by this answer, but I can't help but fuckin' love cottage cheese. I believe my most favorite of all favorites, however, is any vegetable. I love vegetables! I am exciting and I love to have a great time!
17. Last party
Does the Fun Bus count as a party? Because it should. It knocked my socks off. Correction: I was not wearing socks. It knocked my obnoxious kitten heels off. Kitten heels? Let me google that really quickly. Yep, that's what they are called. Who decided they should be called kitten heels? Mormon Jesus? A nun? Did my ex just walk past my window? I SWEAR it was him. Things just got funky.
18. Worst memory
see 13
19. Most scandalous thing you've done
vibrating Bible + above-ground pool divided by 3.5 nuns
20. Favorite holiday
Oh, you mean which holiday makes me want to kill myself the least? I'm sooo angsty. And I love to have a great time!
11. Last crush
Shut up, survey! I don't owe you any answers!
12. Favorite song
I don't think I have a favorite song anymore, but when I was in high school I was all about Simon & Garfunkel's "America." It was so romantic. I imagined a life like the one in the song - boarding a greyhound, reading magazines, smoking cigarettes, sleeping with Paul Simon, and so forth. Turns out none of those things came true except the last one.
13. Childhood memory
Just any childhood memory? I remember accidentally finding the game Boggle under my mom and dad's bed. It was around Christmas time and I just knew that game was a present for me. I felt like I had ruined Christmas by finding Boggle, so I started crying and I probably prayed to Mormon Jesus for forgiveness.
14. Something you'd change about yourself
I would change my constant desire to change something about myself.
15. Best friend
Laura Beth will be a BFF for life (4 lyfe) as well as my sister Heather.
16. Favorite food
The potential vegan in me is grossed out by this answer, but I can't help but fuckin' love cottage cheese. I believe my most favorite of all favorites, however, is any vegetable. I love vegetables! I am exciting and I love to have a great time!
17. Last party
Does the Fun Bus count as a party? Because it should. It knocked my socks off. Correction: I was not wearing socks. It knocked my obnoxious kitten heels off. Kitten heels? Let me google that really quickly. Yep, that's what they are called. Who decided they should be called kitten heels? Mormon Jesus? A nun? Did my ex just walk past my window? I SWEAR it was him. Things just got funky.
18. Worst memory
see 13
19. Most scandalous thing you've done
vibrating Bible + above-ground pool divided by 3.5 nuns
20. Favorite holiday
Oh, you mean which holiday makes me want to kill myself the least? I'm sooo angsty. And I love to have a great time!
survey part dos
Let's do this, kids.
7. Person you hate
I think more in terms of people that hate me and it makes me anxious and sad and scared to run into them at some party or some alley or some party in some alley. Hey, everyone! There's a party in my alley tonight! NO, that is NOT a euphemism! It is not an actual party, either. It's more of a "I was just joking on my blog - so you actually went to the alley thinking I'd be throwing a party?" kind of thing.
8. Last kiss
I told you I was going to keep my lips sealed. But my lips were definitely NOT sealed when I kissed this person. Yeah! High five! Party! Alley! Ally! Friend! Not enemy! No hate! No fear! Bottom of the ninth! Playin' baseball in an alleyway! Someone should make a movie about us! Starring Howie Mandel and a vibrating Bible! And a cute kid that gets cancer and dies 50 minutes into the flick. Bummer.
9.Biggest insecurity(s)
Ohhhh, you're giving me the opportunity to tell you more than one insecurity? Get ready. Pull up a chair. Here goes. Frankly, the fun thing about me is that I am either super self-conscious and hard on myself or I am waaay too confident and think I am the coolest shit that has ever walked this doomed planet. Let's just say that right now I am insecure about my limited vocabulary. I'm always like, "I'm always like!" and "Coooool, man!" and "Yeah, that's pretty awesome!"
10. Bad habits
I've got a great idea for a movie called Bad Habits. It stars a bunch of nuns and some kid that gets cancer until Howie Mandel hits a homerun and cures cancer. Kidding. Howie doesn't cure cancer nor does he win the baseball game despite the homer. This movie is a dramedy and it's all in Spanglish. Cancer is no bueno, kid. Sorry for losing the game.
Ugh, this coffee just wore off. PSYCH. It's going stronger than ever, which means I have lost all interest in this survey and am going to move on to stalking you online. I'm sure I'll return to this survey at a latter date, which is stupid because I am really dragging this on and should just GIVE UP and hallucinate instead.
7. Person you hate
I think more in terms of people that hate me and it makes me anxious and sad and scared to run into them at some party or some alley or some party in some alley. Hey, everyone! There's a party in my alley tonight! NO, that is NOT a euphemism! It is not an actual party, either. It's more of a "I was just joking on my blog - so you actually went to the alley thinking I'd be throwing a party?" kind of thing.
8. Last kiss
I told you I was going to keep my lips sealed. But my lips were definitely NOT sealed when I kissed this person. Yeah! High five! Party! Alley! Ally! Friend! Not enemy! No hate! No fear! Bottom of the ninth! Playin' baseball in an alleyway! Someone should make a movie about us! Starring Howie Mandel and a vibrating Bible! And a cute kid that gets cancer and dies 50 minutes into the flick. Bummer.
9.Biggest insecurity(s)
Ohhhh, you're giving me the opportunity to tell you more than one insecurity? Get ready. Pull up a chair. Here goes. Frankly, the fun thing about me is that I am either super self-conscious and hard on myself or I am waaay too confident and think I am the coolest shit that has ever walked this doomed planet. Let's just say that right now I am insecure about my limited vocabulary. I'm always like, "I'm always like!" and "Coooool, man!" and "Yeah, that's pretty awesome!"
10. Bad habits
I've got a great idea for a movie called Bad Habits. It stars a bunch of nuns and some kid that gets cancer until Howie Mandel hits a homerun and cures cancer. Kidding. Howie doesn't cure cancer nor does he win the baseball game despite the homer. This movie is a dramedy and it's all in Spanglish. Cancer is no bueno, kid. Sorry for losing the game.
Ugh, this coffee just wore off. PSYCH. It's going stronger than ever, which means I have lost all interest in this survey and am going to move on to stalking you online. I'm sure I'll return to this survey at a latter date, which is stupid because I am really dragging this on and should just GIVE UP and hallucinate instead.
hallucinate: why not?
I will finish my survey because I have just had some wicked coffee, but first a picture:
Is it a picture? Are words pictures? Yes and DUH. Or maybe NO and it's up to you. Or maybe second guessing your second guesses is the thing to do. Yes.
Is it a picture? Are words pictures? Yes and DUH. Or maybe NO and it's up to you. Or maybe second guessing your second guesses is the thing to do. Yes.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
proof i'm getting dumber/more dumber
I've done it! I've successfully traveled back through time and am in high school again. Tumblr, I hate and love you more than you will know! Tumblr, does this mean you have a consciousness? Are you alive, Tumblr? Are any of us alive? (In unrelated (but totally related) news, I'm sweaty for some reason. Caffeine? Yeah, that'll do it. Does sweating = living?)
1. I crave stimulation. Of all kinds.
2. I will never choose a favorite Christmas present because I don't want to hurt the feelings of my other Christmas presents. I am actually being, like, 87% serious, but I also have a very damn ass hell hard time making decisions. I dunno! I loved my American Girl doll Molly that I got many a-moons ago. Oh! And my family built me a dollhouse when I was little - incredibly sweet and thoughtful, right? And it was a very damn ass hell shit rad dollhouse, too. Apparently the Wiemers have a secret talent for carpentry!
3. My biggest fear is lack of control. And praying mantises. (I also fear not knowing the plural version of words.)
4. Last meal? Scrambled eggs, pumpernickel toast, strawberries, and earl grey tea.
5. Oh, come on, Tumblr! Fine. I like that this person is the lead singer of a band called "Train." Not a good joke. I don't want to answer.
6. Tough one. Biggest regret... Do I give a serious answer or a comical answer? Okay, a serious one. I regret running away from certain situations/people.
Oh no! Time has escaped and then has reappeared and I have to get ready to leave the state of Utah! Long story. Not a long story. But a story I will tell later, perhaps. I will also finish answering these provocative questions later. Look forward to number 8! Because I'm keeping my lips sealed!
breadcrumbs
I'm shaking with energy right now. Synthetic energy, naturally! I want to write so so so much right now. And the question I always have is, "But what? But what do I write?" I guess those were two questions. MUST I always second guess myself? Yes. But maybe not? I feel like I've made this joke before. It's not a joke! It is a joke, though. Ooookay. Lists. I'm good with lists. I'm also good with almost but not quite peeing my gym shorts while running on the treadmill.
List
*drawing a blank. don't know what i've gotten myself into. i've stopped using capitalization, apparently.
*the "m" key doesn't really work anymore on my computer because there is what appears to be a giant breadcrumb underneath the key. i have to pound the "m" and it is really slowing down my speedy typing skills. what the hell! this is not interesting! but what IS interesting is that i just typed in "breadcrumbs.com" instead of "google.com." i'm a real winner!
*this list sucks rocks! i remember my parents saying phrases like, "go suck rocks" and "colder than a witch's tit" and being really impressed. my parents are probably cooler than i am and i can be pretty cool sometimes. i can also be full of depression and codependency issues, too.
i give up on this post. gaaaawd. i'm going to write just one more quick post - i will figure out a way to make it worth your tie. time! i meant time! fuck you, breadcrumb!
List
*drawing a blank. don't know what i've gotten myself into. i've stopped using capitalization, apparently.
*the "m" key doesn't really work anymore on my computer because there is what appears to be a giant breadcrumb underneath the key. i have to pound the "m" and it is really slowing down my speedy typing skills. what the hell! this is not interesting! but what IS interesting is that i just typed in "breadcrumbs.com" instead of "google.com." i'm a real winner!
*this list sucks rocks! i remember my parents saying phrases like, "go suck rocks" and "colder than a witch's tit" and being really impressed. my parents are probably cooler than i am and i can be pretty cool sometimes. i can also be full of depression and codependency issues, too.
i give up on this post. gaaaawd. i'm going to write just one more quick post - i will figure out a way to make it worth your tie. time! i meant time! fuck you, breadcrumb!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
#confessions
I just picked up my laptop to shake out the crumbs from the keyboard. I eat everything and anything in front of my computer while probably googling your name and hometown.
I also just googled "laptop" to see if it was one word or two words. Guess it's one.
An ex of mine hated my cat sweatshirt and granny glasses. I pretended like it wasn't a big deal, but inside I knew that that was a sign that it wasn't meant to be.
I act like being a cashier is sooo silly and trivial, but it's actually a lot of work, especially for an introverted gal like me. I need to stop downplaying my achievements (and yes, making it through a shift is an achievement for me) and start giving myself some credit.
Speaking of credits, I took, like, 200 credits in college, whatever that means. And by "200," I probably mean "350." I really overdid it, didn't I. ("Overdid" - one or two words?)
"Meghan... Yeah... She's a lot more awkward in person and kind of boring." This is what I imagine everyone who meets me in non-Internet life says/thinks about me. Oh! But guess what! Ninety-nine percent of the time people never think about anyone but themselves. We are the 99%.
I've got some things to say about Lady Gaga. Ask me sometime. In non-Internet life. Yeah, sure. Like we're ever gonna hang out in the real world.
The Real World. In the back of my mind I always imagined that I'd end up being on that show. BUT GUESS WHAT? Now I'm too old to even try out. What the fuckity fucko. It's, like, when did I suddenly become elderly?
What Dreams May Come is a dumbass movie. ("Dumbass" is definitely one word. I'm not some dumb ass.)
Writers are dumbasses.
There is so much I want to write/type/tweet about him (and him), but I won't. He (they) would just love the attention. OH SNAP.
Okay. Okay. Time to eat breakfast and look for a Xanax underneath the couch cushions.
I also just googled "laptop" to see if it was one word or two words. Guess it's one.
An ex of mine hated my cat sweatshirt and granny glasses. I pretended like it wasn't a big deal, but inside I knew that that was a sign that it wasn't meant to be.
I act like being a cashier is sooo silly and trivial, but it's actually a lot of work, especially for an introverted gal like me. I need to stop downplaying my achievements (and yes, making it through a shift is an achievement for me) and start giving myself some credit.
Speaking of credits, I took, like, 200 credits in college, whatever that means. And by "200," I probably mean "350." I really overdid it, didn't I. ("Overdid" - one or two words?)
"Meghan... Yeah... She's a lot more awkward in person and kind of boring." This is what I imagine everyone who meets me in non-Internet life says/thinks about me. Oh! But guess what! Ninety-nine percent of the time people never think about anyone but themselves. We are the 99%.
I've got some things to say about Lady Gaga. Ask me sometime. In non-Internet life. Yeah, sure. Like we're ever gonna hang out in the real world.
The Real World. In the back of my mind I always imagined that I'd end up being on that show. BUT GUESS WHAT? Now I'm too old to even try out. What the fuckity fucko. It's, like, when did I suddenly become elderly?
What Dreams May Come is a dumbass movie. ("Dumbass" is definitely one word. I'm not some dumb ass.)
Writers are dumbasses.
There is so much I want to write/type/tweet about him (and him), but I won't. He (they) would just love the attention. OH SNAP.
Okay. Okay. Time to eat breakfast and look for a Xanax underneath the couch cushions.
spike bender
The real reason why I drank that Spike is so that I could WRITE. I've been itching to blog and now I'm just itching. Does caffeine make your ears itch, too? I hate the word "blog," by the way. I ALWAYS HAVE. But that doesn't stop me from using it! If I hate it so much, why don't I just marry it and then divorce it? But if we start marrying words, then what's next? Marrying a dog? First blog, then dog, then someone of our same gender. It's like a snowball on steroids (meaning it keeps rolling and gathers a lot of snow and then it shoots up some steroids). Fugg (I used that clean version of my favorite swear for you, mama!), I'm acting like Kanye right now. #DONDA But I'm just Spikin', not on some coke bender. Bender? But I hardly know her!
Okay, so I'm going to click on "publish post" in just a second and then start blogging (uuuuugggggghhhhhh that woooord) again, but this time I will try my damndest (darndest! sorry, mom!) to not be so #DONDA. Miss you! Love you! Probably want to blog you!
Okay, so I'm going to click on "publish post" in just a second and then start blogging (uuuuugggggghhhhhh that woooord) again, but this time I will try my damndest (darndest! sorry, mom!) to not be so #DONDA. Miss you! Love you! Probably want to blog you!
thoroughly/spike/eyebrows
So sometimes you find yourself on a Sunday morning drinking an energy drink called "Spike" that you picked up in a health food store. It was placed next to the Muscle Milk and the Princess Juice and now your head is throbbing and you feel like organizing an entire stack of dusty magazines and alphabetizing all of your old books from childhood. Hey! Maybe you'll even wax your eyebrows, although you've never done that before so you will have to go out to the store and buy some kind of waxing kit and then come home, read the directions thoroughly, ponder the spelling of the word "thoroughly," and then crash from the Spike and give up on your eyebrows.
So sometimes this happens.
So sometimes this happens.
lorrie
Have I posted this before? If so, that's okay. Everything repeats repeats repeats anyway.
“Basically, I realized I was living in that awful stage of life between twenty-six to and thirty-seven known as stupidity. It's when you don't know anything, not even as much as you did when you were younger, and you don't even have a philosophy about all the things you don't know, the way you did when you were twenty or would again when you were thirty-eight.”
― Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
“Basically, I realized I was living in that awful stage of life between twenty-six to and thirty-seven known as stupidity. It's when you don't know anything, not even as much as you did when you were younger, and you don't even have a philosophy about all the things you don't know, the way you did when you were twenty or would again when you were thirty-eight.”
― Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
Saturday, January 7, 2012
bald
I know. My last post. Suuuuch a doozy. Doosey. Doozie. Dew-z. I'm not even gonna worry about googling the spelling of such a word. Not even a little bit.
But yeah. I'm okay. I really, really am. I'm afraid I made too many people worry too much about me after that dewzieeee of a confession. I am in a much better spot than I was just a few weeks ago. I think it must be the winter holidaze (ha! get it? like, "daze" instead of "days") that leave me feeling like a pile of dewdee. Doodie. Dude E.
I am on a better path now. And that path is the path where I meet the Buddha and kill him. I just need to recognize the Buddha or else I might end up killing a bald Chinese man and then what? AND THEN WHAT?
But yeah. I'm okay. I really, really am. I'm afraid I made too many people worry too much about me after that dewzieeee of a confession. I am in a much better spot than I was just a few weeks ago. I think it must be the winter holidaze (ha! get it? like, "daze" instead of "days") that leave me feeling like a pile of dewdee. Doodie. Dude E.
I am on a better path now. And that path is the path where I meet the Buddha and kill him. I just need to recognize the Buddha or else I might end up killing a bald Chinese man and then what? AND THEN WHAT?
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