...Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at...

Email (Mis)Quote of the Week


"I'd love if you had no arms and legs and I had to pull you on a skat[e]board."


Which I think was actually SUPPOSED to read


"I'd love [you even] if you had no arms and legs and I had to pull you on a skateboard."


I hope.

*Getting a slight bit nervous*




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Coffee Pit


I spilled coffee on my armpit today.

My shirt wasn't actually ON when I spilled the coffee on its armpit in my car, otherwise that would obviously be a strange feat of gravity.

*Realizing it sounds kind of fishy that I had my shirt off in my car*

Nonetheless: I now smell like coffee b.o.

And coffee b.o. kind of smells like piss.



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Scenes From This Past Weekend


  1. I accidentally parked under a blackberry tree this weekend, and now my car looks like it has been attacked by terrible menses.


  2. I've realized that a tried and true sign that I get along with someone really well is that I can act like an immature and juvenile brat around them without feeling self-conscious. Or apologetic.


  3. I think I may be going to Japan in December for 12 days, if all goes well. Even cooler is that the flight and hotel will be comped I think. I *could* be going to London under the same comp-iness in November, but I'm not sure if that will work out because of my schedule and my (hopeful) change of jobs around that time. Either which way, I'm motherf-ing excited (and hoping I don't jinx any of it by talking about it before plans have been finalized).


  4. Sunday was the MOST perfect day of weather at the beach that I've experienced in a long time. Jumping in the waves and giggling like little kids with my friend P makes my heart squishy.


  5. I've been realizing lately that there are a lot of things I enjoy that I didn't know I enjoy simply for lack of having enjoyed them before.


  6. I dig freckles. Still.


  7. It squishes up my heart to be sitting next to my best friend and watch her drive distractedly slow through the quiet dusk because she is entranced by the music from the mix I made her and, like me, wants to transcend time so as to get through as much of it as she can before she has to turn the car off and cut short the beauty of the night and its soundtrack.


  8. Michfest next week, babies!


  9. Apparently I was referred to slightly derogatorily as "one of them Art Girls" by an apparently slightly salty Y (of the XYZ equation). I figure it serves me right though, since I mocked the Art Boy a couple weeks ago. Karma boomerang.


  10. I lent my neighbor my car to go get cough medicine on Saturday morning because she was sick to the point of tears. She returned TWO HOURS LATER with groceries and narry a tear in her eye. Even weirder was the fact that she cleaned out all the cigarette butts in my car before returning it to me. WeirdEST was the fact that she bought me a pack of Marlboro Lights as a thank you, and the only way she could've gleaned that I even SMOKED that brand was from having closely examined the butts that she cleaned out of my car before returning it to me.


  11. Sunday mornings are 100x better when spent giving wet-willies to pseudo-narcoleptics in bed and, in return, having them lipsync Etta James' "A Sunday Kind of Love" to you.



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It's Like a Break-Up But Not Really and It Makes Me Sad Kind of


I feel bad for Old Guy Neighbor lately because I haven't been home much at all in the last few weeks. (I've been busy enough that my cats are getting angsty about not getting enough roof-time and have flown the coop twice by popping out the corner of the screen.) Nowadays, Old Guy Neighbor and I get into a conversation like MAYBE once a week, if that. It's funny because I DO kind of miss chatting with him, despite all my bitching. I feel a very grand-daughterly fondness towards him sometimes (except when the conversation is at an hour+ and still running, or when he remarks on things like how he laughed really hard when he saw me light my grill and singe my bangs in the process).

Last week, he came to the window and did his usual "Howdy, stranger." This time though, he didn't stay long at all. Maybe 10 minutes. I told him I passed my state boards. He got excited for me. But he also just seemed kind of sad, talked about moving like he occasionally does. And before he left, he said to me, "Yeah, I was going to say hi a couple times when I saw you out, but you had, you know, a guest over. So I figured I shouldn't interrupt. (pause) I'm glad to see you happy."

*Heart smashed under boot-heel*

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Is It Wrong That I Find the Heath-Ledger Joker RIDICULOUSLY Sexy? Please to Inform.


I stayed up 24-hours to see The Dark Knight at 3:25am, opening night. Skepticism abounded due to the ridiculous amount of hype it has been receiving. So imagine my surprise when I walked out of the theater at dawn thinking it was nothing short of ABSOLUTELY FUCKING FANTASTIC.

Holy shit. That's all I can say.

Get to a theater. See it. You don't even have to be a fan of the Batman films. It is brilliant.



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A Treatise On Dating in the Postmodern World, Or Why Art-Boys Really Need to Examine Relationships the Way They Do Art


*And I don't mean to pick on the artboys too much, because you all DO make me tingly in my lady-parts. But still. Feel me on this.*

(Surgeon General Warning: Lindy Loo Hasn't Completely and Coherently Gelled Her Thoughts On Any of These Things Yet, So Prepare for Some Discombobulation)

Art Boys can be really f-ing brilliant. They explode up the notion of language, of art. They toy with the idea of "play" in the projects they bump about in. But the strange thing I've noticed is that for many of them, it stops there. They don't move these notions from the world of theory and language into that of everyday living. And it's kind of weirdly fascinating to me that so many of them still cling on to very traditional views of love, sex, desire, relationships, dating, marriage, etc. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, bumping around half-formed ideas in my head. And what better place to share them than here, on my blog, where I can get publically chastised for a) overthinking everything, b) having way too nontraditional views of things, and c) making fun of Robin Swoboda? WOOT WOOT! So here you go: my musings, in all their glory (and with apologies to those who have written on these topics already and with much more verve, but whom I have yet to bump into in my nerdly readings). Please, feel free to shred. I'm still trying to make sense of these ideas in my own head, so the critical eye of outsiders is always much appreciated. Just realize: if you start yelling at me as though I'm a 'tard I will punch you in the nuts. It's called THOUGHTFUL CRITICISM please.

FALLACIES?

TRUTHS?

(Was gonna categorize these thoughts under each heading, but then I realized they all sort of fit both.)

Desire is magnificent. It is a fully active, creative, explosive event. The idea of it as a creative force is important. It is a creative process: in desiring we are forced to read other people, to fashion our interactions accordingly, to engage in them, to create and fantasize inside our brains, to play. (I am speaking here of sexual desire, but also wanting to have a person in every way shape and form as well.) Desire feasts on the notion of play, one such way being through the activity of flirtation. It builds. It grows. All depending on what we choose to do with it. But then, in the act of finally satisfying it, it is killed in some small sort of way. Each time you satisfy that desire with a person, it's a nail in its coffin, until the coffin is firmly nailed shut. Not to say that desire can't be reignited now and again. But once you KNOW the person, once you've satisfied the desire again and again, once you've figured out how to read them, examined and understand the play involved, have read the text one too many times, then the creative spark begins to die. (Case in point: old married couples. The boredom of knowing someone so well as to be able to complete their thoughts, for example. Desire: dead?)

It's not to say that the sex act isn't a creative force (though I haven't quite decided whether it actually is or not for certain). But this death is why I am often hesitant to involve myself relationship-wise with anyone that I *SHARE* an extremely intense desire with. Which sounds counterintuitive or self-punishing or something. But when the desire does not meet fruition, it at least continues to exist as a driving, creative force between the two people. Once it IS "achieved," it begins the slow decline. Desire is what drives us towards a person. Once it is quenched, what is there driving us forwards towards them anymore? So why would I want to kill off the creative energies between myself and another just for the fuck? (Not to say I don't DESIRE the fuck, but sometimes it's bigger than that.)

Boys don't understand this always, but sometimes the fiercer the desire, the more amazing the energy, the more I'd rather NOT be with them in any sort of sex or relationship-type way. (I mean, I still want in their pants. But the tease of it is often more exciting to me than the having. The build of energy is more exciting to me than the snuffing of it.) Perhaps I am a cynic (and I know I will get yelled at for saying this and told, it's not true! it's not true!), but the "relationship" tends to stifle the desire, the creative force, the active energy that drew us to it in the first place. So why be complicit in its suicide? As we all know, the desiring, the wanting, the flirtation, the play, are the most exciting things about loves--otherwise why would almost all the good love stories be about everything up to the achievement/having? Most love stories, from shit as bad as Serendipity to brilliant films like Amelie, are all about the chase, all about the play, all about the desire--all about all the moments leading up to the having. Same with love songs--they are either about the desire or the sadness at no longer having. No songs are actually ABOUT the having--because that's (sorry to say) the boring part. The desire and the wanting are the juicy, amazing moments. The having, the fruition of desire, may be the pinnacle of those moments, the ultimate achievement, the attaining of one's goal, but it is also the death.

Which leads me to the notion of wanting and having.

I would argue that wanting and having are in complete opposition to one another. If you don't have something, then you can want it. If you have it, then there is no longer a need for the wanting. The wanting is an active force. The having is a passive force. Admittedly, not everyone is seeking out the constant creative turmoil of wanting. Those are the folks who more readily settle into the having. But even with these folks, the active is still attractive. That is why, once we've settled into the having, we often start looking for more of the wanting (affairs, for example). It's what invigorates. It forces us to move from the passive into the active. And I think that even the laziest of us would rather be doing something than nothing. That is the life force driving us all to not kill ourselves.

Where does the notion of fucking fall into all this? I don't quite know. Perhaps the bridge between the wanting and the having? I need to think on this more.

But on to the notion of "fucking and relationships." What is the one thing we use to define ourselves in a "relationship" with another person: the fucking. No, you say. It's more than that. Bullshit, I say. What is transgression within a relationship? Fucking someone outside of the relationship. Not "sharing the intellectual stimulation of conversation with someone else," not "loving someone else" (we do that all the time--friends, family, other loves), not "engaging in an emotional connection with someone else." Fucking.

We may take issue with all the aforementioned activities, but only when we're paranoid that they're a springboard to the fucking. If we were doing any of these things with someone we didn't desire, a "platonic" friend for example, no lover would take issue with them. "You just had an intellectually stimulating conversation with your best friend and it left your cheeks all flushed and your heart pumping with excitement? Well, that's ok, 'cause she's just your best friend." But as vehicles towards fucking, THAT'S when people start getting up in arms. "You just had an intellecutally stimulating conversation with that very attractive boy that makes your insides flip-flop and it left your cheeks all flushed and your heart pumping with excitement? NOT ALLOWED!" Fucking is what bounds the relationship, whether we want to admit it or not. And who gives a shit: fucking is fucking. If we can get beyond that fact, then really, what differentiates our relationships with one another? Nada. Then again, if we get beyond the fucking, toss it to the wayside, then things become fluid and indefinable and that FREAKS PEOPLE THE FUCK OUT.

I can't wrap my head around those who don't get this on SOME sort of level. All the things that drive us in our connections with another person are always there, regardless of whether we're fucking them or not. Say I have an intense desire for both Person A and Person B. They both fill me up with fiery energies, make my mind go a 100 miles a minute, stimulate me intellectually, get my juices flowing. Now, society says you should not fuck both in the same window of time: you pick one and you fuck just that one. Fucking two is transgression and taboo. It happens. But we tend to shake our heads at it. And even if it's us DOING it, we find ourselves uncomfortable on some level. It doesn't fit into the neat little picture. So, let's say I choose to exist within the idea of societal norms. I take one as a lover. Let's say Person A. Does anything change in relation to Person B, other than that they're not getting fucked just like they weren't getting fucked before? No. So why the wounded ego just because you're not getting fucked? If I still want to spend ridiculous amounts of time in your company, if I still lavish in your every word, if I still get saucy and flirtatious with you, if we still share EVERY SINGLE CONNECTION THAT WE HAD BEFORE, then why get all pouty over not fucking? Are we really that fuck-driven?

I mean, it's slightly insulting, truth of the matter, to have someone stop talking to you just because you're in a relationship (aka. fucking) someone other than them. Because really, was that all you were to them--potential fuck? Hopefully not. And if not, then who cares, because everything else is still there, just not the fucking. Hopefully what compelled you towards one another was something larger. And the something larger is what can't be possessed anyways. Fucking: ownable. Desire/love/energies/the-intellectual-fuck: unownable.

PLUS, for some strange reason Person B is failing to see what's so very fantastic about this situation: the desire I rambled about in the beginning of this confusing diatribe is not nipped in the bud. The desire burns and burns and burns. And it's not put out by the fucking. So if you're someone who relishes in all the wanting, all the desiring, all the creative forces of wanting to sink your teeth in a person (in every which way--intellectually, emotionally, fuckily), then WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Not fucking them and not being in a relationship with them actually means you get to hang onto all that fierce, fantastic shit longer than you would if the fuck had taken place. So unless your goal in every single relation with a person is sheerly the animal fuck, why can we not let it be what it is? You can have the exact same fierce energy with Person B, you can flirt, you can still offer each other EVERYTHING (but the fucking).

This is why I hate the way relationships constrict. When you get in a relationship, you don't stop loving/cherishing/being stimulated by all your friends in the same way as you were before, do you? No. Because the fucking is just the fucking. So why does it need to affect other fiery interests or the chemistry of relationships with others around us? It DOESN'T. I mean, if you start fucking Person A, is your relationship with your mom distorted or affected in any sort of way? No. So why is it any different with someone you share an intense connection with? In fact, it could hypothetically feed the passions and creativity more than the fucking could. Some of the most intense relationships/friendships/loves I've had were at least partially fueled by a desire that was never quenched with fucking. Just because I call my relationship with one person a "relationship" and my relationship with another a "friendship" doesn't change the fierceness of any feelings involved. It's all fucking arbitrary wordage. And wordage fails miserably. So what causes Person B to become disgruntled at the not-fucking when they were ok with it as long as there was the potential for fucking? I don't quite know to be honest. Perhaps it's some shitty desire to possess and own? Maybe THAT'S what it comes down to? To horde and not want to share? Kind of like kindergarteners and their pretty-colored crayons?

And I don't mean to pick on the artboys (but they seem to GET things in a different sort of way, which is why I'd expect more from them maybe?), but it amuses me is that these artboys who DO want to tear everything up, explode things, play with the notion of play itself, that these very artboys STILL CLING TO THE SAME OL' STALE CONSTRICTING DEFINITIONS OF HOW WE LOVE LUST DESIRE FUCK RELATE. What the fuck is the deal with that?? How can you explode the fuck out of language, out of an art form, out of thought, and yet still retreat back to the same ol' dusty views of relationships?

I've talked about this before as well, but I tend to think the notions of how we define love to be bunk: the categories of love fail us as soon as they're placed on any love. Friendship-love. Familial love. Sexual love. Romantic love. Love is a different equation with EVERY SINGLE PERSON you meet. And each time you put something in a category, it immediately tries to resist it. Proof positive: the frequency in which people who've been married say that DESPITE THE FACT THAT NOTHING HAS CHANGED IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP UPON MARRYING, just defining it (naming it) as marriage changes it. Because as soon as you put that label on it, it struggles to start resisting it, to poke holes in what it is supposed to be, to not be stifled by it.

I'm beginning to understand less and less the need to define things. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. Lover. Dating. Feelings shared, love between people, desire WILL EXIST regardless of whether you choose to define or name it it. I can call a cat "Cat," but does that make it any more "cat-like" than it was before I chose a name for it? No. Love and desire exist in ways that cannot be bound or owned by stupid silly words. And they are not given any MORE force by the words. Oftentimes it's actually quite the opposite. (Here is where I wish I had a bit more language theory under my belt, but ah well.)

No matter how you name something, it is what it is. I can say "lover" and I can say "friend" just because I'm fucking one and not the other. But the explosive whirlwind of feelings for both is not affected by the labels. UNLESS "lover" or "friend" clings to them and gives them weight and validation. And that's what I'm saying: I don't get the artboy need to do this. Why resist language and placing things into boxes in every other realm BUT relationships?

I'm actually NOT promoting open-relationships in all this (to each their own on that, really)--I'm moreso just saying, be fucking aware of the system you're working in. Especially if you pay so much attention to it in other realms. More and more I find myself wondering what the fuck is the point of the Traditional System of Relationships (as defined by marriage or girlfriend-boyfriend relations) and/or whether it really exists anyways.

I know I know I know: I overanalyze. How often do I hear this in every motherf-ing circumstance I start ruminating on?? Fuck you'all. That's what I have to say about that. You wouldn't come here to read it if you didn't find it interesting on some level. And the thing is, I'm not so much analyzing THIS specific relationship. I am examining myself. How can you latch on to people, engage them in relationships, if you don't at least try tackling the understanding of where you stand in relation to relationships first? And the thing is: I *AM* going with the flow in the way of love and sex and letting it take me where it chooses to go. I'm NOT letting all these thoughts stifle me. But does that mean I can't THINK about them, for chrissake?!?!

(All that being said, it truly is amazing that anyone would EVER want to be with me in the first place. Ha ha ha. And yet: somehow this keeps taking place. *Amazement*)



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Last week, I had someone who was spinning records out at a bar text me in the middle of their set to tell me they were playing this song and thinking of me:




Which made me feel ALL kinds of silly and squishy and smiley and stupid and muppety on my insides.

Because it is a sweet and lovely song.

Which is why I share.



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Old Guy Neighbor has problems remembering the names of my cats. For a while he was calling BOTH my cats Franzy.

Yesterday, he says to me: "So which one of your cats is Zooey?" I point out Zooey (my gray cat). He says to me, "I still like to call her Ms. Grey." Fine by me I'm thinking. You can call her whatever the hell you want--it's no skin off my nose.

Thing is, if he's going to learn one of my cat's names already, I wish he'd start it up with Franny. Because right now he calls her Blackie.

Yeah.

And I think I really could do without having some old guy shouting about "Blackie" to me from out his window for all the neighborhood to hear.

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Higgs Bosoms, and THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT


I am a nerd. I have no issues with admitting that. In fact, I got a subscription to Discover magazine about a year ago to nurture the more "scientific" aspect of my nerdly side. One day I was thinking to myself: I like to read about the weird, fascinating things that go on in the human brain, in the universe, etc. So I really should get a subscription to something that discusses that kind of shit. I settled on Discover because, well, I was able to get a subscription for under $10. I may be a nerd, but I'm also a cheap whore.

So I indulged. And it was the worst cheap whoriness I've experienced. I mean, just because you're writing about neurofibrils or astrophysics, does it really need to be written 100% dry and boring? I think not.

Discover also has a very weird and conservative bent to it as well. Which I guess doesn't surprise me all that much in retrospect. But I wasn't expecting it at the time. OFTEN I read it and think to myself (particularly with regard to their animal-related subject matters), Really? You're not even going to acknowledge vegetarianism in this very relevant little blurb about meat-consumption? Or really? Old stuffy white guy says what?

Needless to say, I am letting the subscription expire.

And of course, now that I made that decision, the final issue ends up being this completely interesting issue about time and space and the universe.

The more interesting subjects this time around:

  • How we experience time--Article claims that our brains read time like music. I find myself thinking this is LOVELY as fuck. But then I think about it more, and it dawns on me that in order to read music, we need time. So doesn't this theory kind of collapse on itself? It's like saying our brains read time like... time. Der. Nonetheless: for a moment it was quite lovely. And not dry for once.


  • Dark energy--or why I love paradoxes and anything that undercuts science. "With the discovery of dark energy came difficult questions: What is this energy, and where does it come from? Physicists simply do not know. According to quantum mechanics, the energy of empty space comes from the virtual particles that dwell there. But when physicists use the equations of quantum theory to calculate the amount of that virtual energy, they get a ridiculously huge number--about 120 orders of magnitude too large. That much energy would literally blow the universe apart: Objects a few inches from us would be carried away to astronomical distances; the universe would literally double in size every 10[-43] seconds, and it would keep doubling at that rate until all the vacuum energy was gone. This may be the most colossal gap between observation and theory in the history of science. And it means that physicists are missing something fundamental about the way the universe works." BURN!


  • Vacuums--"If the vacuum is not at the lowest energy state possible, then at some point in the future, the vacuum could fall to a lower state, pulsing out energy that would threaten the very structure of the cosmos. If some clever engineer were ever to extract energy from the vacuum, it could set off a chain reaction that would spread at the speed of light and destroy the universe. [!!]" Death by Hoover!


  • Science experiments that could DESTROY US ALL--"A lawsuit filed in U.S. district court in Honolulu seeks to halt the opening of [the Large Hadron Collider--a particle accelerator outside of Geneva, Switzerland]... The charge... is that microscopic black holes produced at the collider might coalesce and engulf the earth, ending all life as we know it." Sweet.


  • M Theory--"Some researchers, though, expect the LHC to turn up evidence of something very new indeed--extra dimensions of space. According to M theory--the latest, most audacious attempt to explain the fundamental workings of physics--the space around us may be made of as many as 11 dimensions. M theory proposes that the ultimate building blocks of the universe are not particles but tiny vibrating loops of energy, or strings, as physicists call them. For complicated mathematical reasons, these loops need 11 dimensions in which to vibrate; otherwise the theory doesn't work. We experience only four dimensions (three of space and one of time) in everyday life because the other seven are supposedly so small that we do not notice them...

    One way to picture this is to imagine a tightrope walker on a high wire. To the tightrope walker the wire is essentially one-dimensional, a line pointing in one direction. But an ant crawling on the wire would see it as a three-dimensional object; the ant could crawl completely around the wire, experiencing a dimension that is inaccessible to the tightrope walker. String theorists would say we're like the tightrope walker, except that our "rope" is an 11-dimensional space, of which we are able to perceive only four dimensions...

    Some physicists like to think that M theory will form the basis of what they call a theory of everything, a set of laws that will completely describe the universe in all its strangeness, where dark energy, quantum theory, extra dimensions, and magazine readers [*bahahaha--eye roll*] will all fit into one tidy package. But in the end, the key to cosmic truth may well come from another window on reality, the looming void. A good theory of nothing just might be the theory of everything physicists have sought for so long."


But my favorite part of this issue actually stemmed from my initial misreading of a word. In an article about vacuums, they began to reference particles called Higgs bosons. Which I misread as Higgs bosoms. And which actually made the article WAY more interesting:

"If the Higgs field does exist, the LHC should find a previously unseen particle called the Higgs boson. [Teehee] Just as light, which is an electromagnetic field, is transmitted by particles called photons, physicists expect that the mass-endowing effect of the Higgs field is ferried by Higgs bosons. {*giggle*}

This discovery of the Higghs boson [hee] would answer one of the most basic puzzles of our reality."

Ahh bosons. *Getting tingly in my netherparts*



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The last few weeks have been OBNOXIOUSLY fun and delightful and good and wonderful and all sorts of things. Which has made me realize I have a slightly paranoid, cynical streak to me, since I've been walking around basically waiting for something horrifically terrible to happen to even things out. Last week, for example, Ms. Mo didn't respond to a phone call in a timely manner, and I immediately started freaking out that something had happened to her and that this was my punishment for being blissfully content. When she called back, she just laughed. She gets it too I think. For once our upswings are synchronized, and I think we both have some strange cosmic paranoia that things can't POSSIBLY be feeling this good without something going drastically wrong. Sad. I think it's some sort of internalized feeling that we don't deserve the happiness. Despite the fact that we fucking do. That MOTHER OF GOD it's about fucking time.

This week I was told that I have a lot of self-loathing. Check. This week I was also told that I deserve to have someone take care of me--not that I can't take care of myself but because I just DESERVE that. Check. This week I cried and had a fucking BEAUTIFUL deserving friend distract me by making me laugh and eat grilled cheez. This week I had someone sit and listen to me because I needed to be listened to, even if just for a brief moment, and rub their hand gently against my ear as I spoke.

My connection with the universe feels so strange lately. Not in a bad way. Just in a mysterious way. It's strange how sometimes you're looking for something in a totally different place when all of the sudden, slam, you get sideswiped in ways unexpected. It's kind of like when you're trying to make out that one sort of faint star in the sky, and when you stare at it head on, it blends into the background, but as soon as you look slightly away, it just sorta blazes out at you. Same.

I am, as always, afraid.

A good friend had a strange Tetsuo-esque dream about me the other night. He shared it with me yesterday, and we laughed:

i had an awesome dream about you last night. we were making out somewhere sort-of public but in a private corner of said place and you were wearing a black vinyl top, but loose fitting, and open in the back except for a few strings that held it closed. anyway, so we were macking on each other and in my usual smooth fashion i work my way to feeling up yer b00bs. you didn't shoot me down so we were making out and i was feeling you up and then i went to tweak your nips a little bit but they were really hard. and i was like: 'wow. your nips are hard as nails.' and you go: 'oh, that's because i just had these installed...' and you untied the back of your shirt to reveal that you had big metal nails driven through where your nips should be. i was fascinated and kept sort of pinching them even though you couldn't really feel anything. and then from nowhere you produced a nail gun and you said (except when you said it the words actually printed in the air): "If You Want To Be With Me You're Going To Have To Get Used To This." and then you shot the nail into my hand and i just looked at it and so did you. and then i shrugged and we went fervently back to making out.

see? awesome.

His love is such that I wish I could bottle it. We can share with each other things like this dream, we can say I love you, and there is a generosity and understanding to it that I cherish. This dream is also strangely intuitive as well--it actually captures the duality of myself that I've been having a difficult time dealing with lately... How to manage the constant battle between vulnerability and emotional armor, softness and metal, how to let them coexist.

This week I feel importance.

Last night I ran a last minute pie out to a van in my barefeet. I got blown a kiss. I showered. I woke up three times during the night, and each time, I thought to myself: I am loved.



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Favorite Moment of the Week


Walking into the kitchen to find P trying to cut an onion without touching the onion with her hands.*






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*Apparently she doesn't like touching onions because of the stink. I can empathize. Sure as shit is funny though.



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Why I Only Scored a Measly 1 on my AP Calculus Exam


It is difficult to quantitatively assess how guilty one should be feeling about the following equation:

If:
  • X meets Y;

  • X likes Y quite a bit and flirts with Y;

  • X gets drinks with Y;

  • X meets Z and spontaneously hangs out with Z one day;

  • Y vanishes for the summer;

  • X realizes Y and Z are also good friends;

  • X and Z become friends;

  • X continues to flirt with Y through a few emails;

  • Z drunkenly lays the charm on X one day;

  • X is skeptical;

  • Z undrunkenly lays the friendship on X;

  • X realizes she likes Z quite a bit;

  • X finds out Y & Z had a conversation about her prior to Y leaving;

  • X garners from the brief retelling of said convo that Z called dibs on X, kind of like you call dibs on "shotgun";

  • X envisions the convo involving lots of XY-ish ball-grabbing which really is kind of ridiculous but also funny;

  • Z asks X to hang out EVERY day that week (sometimes more than once);

  • X confusedly digs Z;

  • X also still digsduglikesliked Y;

  • X has told Z this;

  • X has not told Y this;

  • Y has not emailed X back;

  • X is angry at her brain for not keeping things simple;

  • X feels shitty;

  • X doesn't even know if she *should* be feeling shitty really;

  • X still feels shitty

Then given the equation of X + Y + Z = O, O would equal?

Square-root of pi?

Please to inform.

My calculus is shabby.



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Things That I Don't Mind About Getting Older

  • Post-20's-cleavage--I have small tits. I am TOTALLY cool with them. I have many fans, and I think they're rather lovely myself, if I may say so. But I've never had the experience of cleavage. So I've always kind of been looking forward to getting older in that regard. Because small tits don't sag. So what ends up happening is you get this beautiful (and inexplicable) seam in lieu of cleavage as you get older. I noticed about a year ago that I was finally developing this aforementioned Skinny Girl Boobie Seam Cleavage, and I threw a Skinny Girl Boobie Seam Cleavage party, I was that thrilled.


  • Gray hair--As my hair was getting burrowed in last week, I was told that I'm getting gray hair at the roots. And it actually thrills me a little, I don't know why. I may not be as enthuasiastic about this one as I am the Skinny Girl Boobie Seam Cleavage, but IT DON'T SCARE ME! NO NO, GRAY HAIRS! BRING IT!


  • Lines--I am getting crow's feet. And I am getting smile lines. And do I care? No. Because Happiness can rip the SHIT out of my face for all I care. Yeah, you heard me.


Things That I *DO* Mind About Getting Older

  • The whole "Death" thing--No smack-talk for this one.



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