The internet is a fairly repulsive platform for sharing experiences.
My friends and family who wonder why I stopped blogging, please refer to the superbly weird commentary made by strangers in the recent months.
Antisemitism, hateful opinions that I don't value or give merit to, anger anger anger disgusting creepy lurky vomit.
A gentle message to the commentators:
If you are neither friend or family to me; I have never written a word for you. Please don't concern yourself with my photos, stories, or feelings.
In such an open forum I expect varying opinions but really, cmon.
As for today, I will be getting back to my beautiful life.
Thanks for your input punkins.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
hither/yon
Privacy is a weird concept.
I don't particularly care for/about it.
I like it when people tell me 'too much information.'
My happiness in a home is directly proportionate to how many doors there are, and whether or not they remain ajar.
I MUST pee within earshot of other people, and best case scenario, I enjoy carrying on a conversation while doing my business.
Sidenote: looking for peeing with door open visual I found this:
(only funny to me?)
When people accuse me of speaking too loudly I get really sad because I believe theres a chance everyone around wants to know what I had for lunch or what I think of David Lynch (brutally overrated/a dickbag)
That being said, I am trying to come to terms with how unusual all this is.
There are many people I care about who WILL NOT leave the door open when they pee. If I try to come in their bathroom while its occupied, they will not like it and they will scold me.
My friends might roll their eyes in my direction and try to sort out just what my issue is. This is how it goes:
"Krissy. How old are you? Do you know that you're saying too much? Do you hear yourself? Some things are supposed to be sacred."
I will tell you what I think is sacred.
I think silence is sacred, just like the rest of yall. I know when it's time to hush up. (Right?)
I think privacy, yes, sure, it's really great.
I think acting like a grown up and giving people space is totally awesome for real blargblargblarg.
That doesn't mean I don't love to be all in others business/have them all up in mine.
It's not a neediness thing, its a human bonding thing.
I wanna bond.
Often.
If you are looking for someone to succubus onto, I am your girl.
Because it's really all about duos, threesomes, teams, whatever.
(I try to avoid 'gangs' or 'crews' though because they are scary and violent and in the end they WILL hunt the weak and become cannibals, a la The Road)
Case in point, my best girlfriends and I are the Tiny Ponies. Actually we began as a number of things, one of them being Teen Horse Walk (4 girl band where no one plays instruments or sings very well)
When we want to get together we do a calling of the Ponies.
Group texts about where we can 'corral'
Plans for little trips, tattoos we should communally get, secret jokes no one else will understand.
Extreme maturity.
This inevitably makes all of us feel special and loved.
And that's why I don't dig on privacy and space.
I'm not sure if this all actually relates to my original point, I highly doubt it.
I'm just saying, the definition of privacy is: The quality or condition of being secluded from the presence or view of others.
That does not sound like my gig.
Also not my gig?
If you accidentally type in gettinontappayas.blogPSot.com (eensy weensy typo) you get some balls out bible study site with links to go away to Egypt or something.
On that note, the next time I blog I'm going to talk about how bad I am at shopping and how my boif has way better taste that me.
I will have photographs to make my point clear.
Speaking of shopping, if any of you want to get my a holiday gift, I would like some Wolford stockings to increase my sex appeal and also anything made of silk/lace/velvet.
Lets get victorian.
Or lets just find this exact gear and stick me in it.
BonerTime.
I don't particularly care for/about it.
I like it when people tell me 'too much information.'
My happiness in a home is directly proportionate to how many doors there are, and whether or not they remain ajar.
I MUST pee within earshot of other people, and best case scenario, I enjoy carrying on a conversation while doing my business.
Sidenote: looking for peeing with door open visual I found this:
(only funny to me?)
When people accuse me of speaking too loudly I get really sad because I believe theres a chance everyone around wants to know what I had for lunch or what I think of David Lynch (brutally overrated/a dickbag)
That being said, I am trying to come to terms with how unusual all this is.
There are many people I care about who WILL NOT leave the door open when they pee. If I try to come in their bathroom while its occupied, they will not like it and they will scold me.
My friends might roll their eyes in my direction and try to sort out just what my issue is. This is how it goes:
"Krissy. How old are you? Do you know that you're saying too much? Do you hear yourself? Some things are supposed to be sacred."
I will tell you what I think is sacred.
I think silence is sacred, just like the rest of yall. I know when it's time to hush up. (Right?)
I think privacy, yes, sure, it's really great.
I think acting like a grown up and giving people space is totally awesome for real blargblargblarg.
That doesn't mean I don't love to be all in others business/have them all up in mine.
It's not a neediness thing, its a human bonding thing.
I wanna bond.
Often.
If you are looking for someone to succubus onto, I am your girl.
Because it's really all about duos, threesomes, teams, whatever.
(I try to avoid 'gangs' or 'crews' though because they are scary and violent and in the end they WILL hunt the weak and become cannibals, a la The Road)
Case in point, my best girlfriends and I are the Tiny Ponies. Actually we began as a number of things, one of them being Teen Horse Walk (4 girl band where no one plays instruments or sings very well)
When we want to get together we do a calling of the Ponies.
Group texts about where we can 'corral'
Plans for little trips, tattoos we should communally get, secret jokes no one else will understand.
Extreme maturity.
This inevitably makes all of us feel special and loved.
And that's why I don't dig on privacy and space.
I'm not sure if this all actually relates to my original point, I highly doubt it.
I'm just saying, the definition of privacy is: The quality or condition of being secluded from the presence or view of others.
That does not sound like my gig.
Also not my gig?
If you accidentally type in gettinontappayas.blogPSot.com (eensy weensy typo) you get some balls out bible study site with links to go away to Egypt or something.
On that note, the next time I blog I'm going to talk about how bad I am at shopping and how my boif has way better taste that me.
I will have photographs to make my point clear.
Speaking of shopping, if any of you want to get my a holiday gift, I would like some Wolford stockings to increase my sex appeal and also anything made of silk/lace/velvet.
Lets get victorian.
Or lets just find this exact gear and stick me in it.
BonerTime.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Le DuDu
I'm 'working' right now which means I'm in a giant hotel bed in a reclined position with a hot laptop on my thighs watching The Biggest Loser on Hulu.
I am eating a bag of chips from the mini bar which could very well cost about fifteen dollars.
This picture has nothing to do with my current situation, but I could see it happening to me and I honestly feel like a slight fail right now.
And anything having to do with Fail makes me laugh a wee bit.
Anyway.
There is a baby sleeping in the shower.
So my job is essentially checking from time to time to make sure the baby has not suddenly disappeared a la Lindberg or turned into a radish a la Fairie Tale Theater.
Not in the shower, but in a crib placed within the shower. I forgot to specify that part. Le Infants parents are French and very sweet but they do not like to get up early so the baby goes in the bathroom out of earshot.
I am NOT passing judgement here; I have been a nanny for my entire adult life and I know full well that kids are a pain in the ass. And when I have a baby, i will put it anywhere I want.
FYI:
This is occurring at the Bowery Hotel, a few doors down from Debi Mazar and Jason Schwartzman. Not that those two are sharing a room, but I have seen both of them while babysitting here for these french people the last couple of days.
They both have very absurd voices and small limbs.
And they both felt the need to start a weird conversation with me. That is something I enjoy. When you look at someone famous, and then you go about your current activity, you can almost feel the disappointment in the air. Sure, they say on Oprah "I just want to practice my craft and be left alone" but that my friends, is total horseshit.
If you pass a celebrity in a quiet hall or step into an empty elevator with them, chances are they are just ITCHING to say, "Yes, I am so-and-so...thank you, yes I enjoyed working on that project I'm glad you enjoyed watching it...ciao." (normal people do not say ciao, only famous people/models/Italians/assholes say ciao)
If you take the route of ignoring the fact that they have been on television or in film or sold a million records, they might just spontaneously combust. They will wonder if you are stupid or just aloof. They will think maybe you too, are famous, or very rich. Maybe THEY should be striking up a convo with YOU. Maybe your father owns Viacom or your fiancee just bought a small country to lord over.
So this is how Debi Mazar ended up telling me I have princess hair. All because I completely ignored her. Yes, I watched her in the hall sensually apply deep red lipstick. Yes, I got a flash of GoodFellas when she stepped into the elevator with me. Of course I wanted to tell her Entourage sucks and she's the only bearable part of it. But I didn't.
So there.
I think we should take this issue back to Oprah for a moment, just to express what happens to people when they are acknowledged wherever they go.
PS I hope this note is real, and I bet the woman who wrote it has mysteriously fallen off a cliff since then:
OK. This entry is really all over the place, I have become a muddled shitty writer with little to no direction. But it all comes to a point. The point is me.
I am wondering what kind of person I am after saying all of the things I just said.
I am wondering what kind of person blogs.
I BLOG. I TALK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE ON MY BLOG. I SIT HERE TYPING ABOUT ASSUMPTIONS I HAVE MADE ABOUT OTHERS. AND I WANT YOU ALL TO READ THIS. I'M EXCITED THAT OTHER PEOPLE READ ABOUT WHAT I'M DOING!
There's the link. I just made the mental link about what kind of person I am.
It's still a popularity contest everywhere.
In the sixth floor hall of the Bowery Hotel.
In the blogosphere. (that's a blogger term, no?)
In the city I reside in.
In schools and in bars and in Hollywood and in your family.
Everyone wants to be popular and relevant and recognized and sometimes that includes me.
I want everyone to love me just enough to read my blog and offer me jobs and date me without trying to date other girls at the same time.
I am not sure if that is asking a lot, maybe it is.
If I were a big fish in a small pond, I doubt these things would even cross my mind.
It's just tonight sitting in a hotel alone I feel as though I really am a tiny speck in the water. Plankton maybe.
I'll be plankton if you'll be it too.
I am eating a bag of chips from the mini bar which could very well cost about fifteen dollars.
This picture has nothing to do with my current situation, but I could see it happening to me and I honestly feel like a slight fail right now.
And anything having to do with Fail makes me laugh a wee bit.
Anyway.
There is a baby sleeping in the shower.
So my job is essentially checking from time to time to make sure the baby has not suddenly disappeared a la Lindberg or turned into a radish a la Fairie Tale Theater.
Not in the shower, but in a crib placed within the shower. I forgot to specify that part. Le Infants parents are French and very sweet but they do not like to get up early so the baby goes in the bathroom out of earshot.
I am NOT passing judgement here; I have been a nanny for my entire adult life and I know full well that kids are a pain in the ass. And when I have a baby, i will put it anywhere I want.
FYI:
This is occurring at the Bowery Hotel, a few doors down from Debi Mazar and Jason Schwartzman. Not that those two are sharing a room, but I have seen both of them while babysitting here for these french people the last couple of days.
They both have very absurd voices and small limbs.
And they both felt the need to start a weird conversation with me. That is something I enjoy. When you look at someone famous, and then you go about your current activity, you can almost feel the disappointment in the air. Sure, they say on Oprah "I just want to practice my craft and be left alone" but that my friends, is total horseshit.
If you pass a celebrity in a quiet hall or step into an empty elevator with them, chances are they are just ITCHING to say, "Yes, I am so-and-so...thank you, yes I enjoyed working on that project I'm glad you enjoyed watching it...ciao." (normal people do not say ciao, only famous people/models/Italians/assholes say ciao)
If you take the route of ignoring the fact that they have been on television or in film or sold a million records, they might just spontaneously combust. They will wonder if you are stupid or just aloof. They will think maybe you too, are famous, or very rich. Maybe THEY should be striking up a convo with YOU. Maybe your father owns Viacom or your fiancee just bought a small country to lord over.
So this is how Debi Mazar ended up telling me I have princess hair. All because I completely ignored her. Yes, I watched her in the hall sensually apply deep red lipstick. Yes, I got a flash of GoodFellas when she stepped into the elevator with me. Of course I wanted to tell her Entourage sucks and she's the only bearable part of it. But I didn't.
So there.
I think we should take this issue back to Oprah for a moment, just to express what happens to people when they are acknowledged wherever they go.
PS I hope this note is real, and I bet the woman who wrote it has mysteriously fallen off a cliff since then:
OK. This entry is really all over the place, I have become a muddled shitty writer with little to no direction. But it all comes to a point. The point is me.
I am wondering what kind of person I am after saying all of the things I just said.
I am wondering what kind of person blogs.
I BLOG. I TALK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE ON MY BLOG. I SIT HERE TYPING ABOUT ASSUMPTIONS I HAVE MADE ABOUT OTHERS. AND I WANT YOU ALL TO READ THIS. I'M EXCITED THAT OTHER PEOPLE READ ABOUT WHAT I'M DOING!
There's the link. I just made the mental link about what kind of person I am.
It's still a popularity contest everywhere.
In the sixth floor hall of the Bowery Hotel.
In the blogosphere. (that's a blogger term, no?)
In the city I reside in.
In schools and in bars and in Hollywood and in your family.
Everyone wants to be popular and relevant and recognized and sometimes that includes me.
I want everyone to love me just enough to read my blog and offer me jobs and date me without trying to date other girls at the same time.
I am not sure if that is asking a lot, maybe it is.
If I were a big fish in a small pond, I doubt these things would even cross my mind.
It's just tonight sitting in a hotel alone I feel as though I really am a tiny speck in the water. Plankton maybe.
I'll be plankton if you'll be it too.
Friday, November 6, 2009
C'mon.
Let me tell you.
For two weeks I have been smoking like a chimney/a Brad Pitt/a mom on welfare.
When you aren't eating, smoking becomes sort of second nature.
When you aren't eating because you're having extreme anxiety, smoking becomes sort of a first nature.
I also drank a lot of orange juice to balance out the whole killing my body thing.
It seemed like a logical and or tasty solution.
I feel so much better today because I am seeing Claude again (my tiny therapist boy genius friend voice of reason) and I left a crazy abusive job. And I had the relationship talk.
That one.
Theres only one.
The one that goes like this:
(The Van Der Beek is a really good example of the Girl Crying)
Girl Crying: "I feel ______. And I need ______. And you aren't there right now and I don't know WHERE you are but its not THERE where I neeeeed you."
long pause.
Girl Crying: "I don't want to break up."
This is where Girl lists some options and tries to remain calm and does weird things with her hands and looks terrified and probably goes to the bathroom at least once to avoid the situation momentarily.
Then if the boy has any care whatsoever, he usually says what needs to be said, which fingers crossed, ends with this:
Smart Boy: "I don't want to lose you."
Aaaaaaand SCENE.
Don't worry, everything is better, no one is angry, no one is scared, now you give eachother some kind of physical feedback like a kiss or a solid hug and everyone can stop freaking out.
Unfortunately, written out that way, it looks like total bullshit the way people communicate.
But its not.
Saying how you feel is fucking hard, because the assumption is usually that you will be rejected after you've said your piece.
No one likes a complainer, or a drama queen, or a baby.
And everyone is scared all of the time to change things that feel off. Because once you admit they are off, you're really in trouble if you don't intend to step up and right the wrongs.
We all know who I'm talking about and I don't really like that because I value the privacy he and I still maintain most of the time.
But this relates to every single romantic relationship anyone will ever have so its not even like MY r'ship is being revealed here.
Yes, I say r'ship.
All the time.
Usually daily.
Because that is all girls talk about anyway.
R'ships.
I'm really sorry that I have to take it here, but, the moral of the story is
"Your R'ship will only sail successfully in the waters of truth and open hearts."
Most schmaltzy thing I have ever said?
Or.
Most awesome thing I have ever said.
For two weeks I have been smoking like a chimney/a Brad Pitt/a mom on welfare.
When you aren't eating, smoking becomes sort of second nature.
When you aren't eating because you're having extreme anxiety, smoking becomes sort of a first nature.
I also drank a lot of orange juice to balance out the whole killing my body thing.
It seemed like a logical and or tasty solution.
I feel so much better today because I am seeing Claude again (my tiny therapist boy genius friend voice of reason) and I left a crazy abusive job. And I had the relationship talk.
That one.
Theres only one.
The one that goes like this:
(The Van Der Beek is a really good example of the Girl Crying)
Girl Crying: "I feel ______. And I need ______. And you aren't there right now and I don't know WHERE you are but its not THERE where I neeeeed you."
long pause.
Girl Crying: "I don't want to break up."
This is where Girl lists some options and tries to remain calm and does weird things with her hands and looks terrified and probably goes to the bathroom at least once to avoid the situation momentarily.
Then if the boy has any care whatsoever, he usually says what needs to be said, which fingers crossed, ends with this:
Smart Boy: "I don't want to lose you."
Aaaaaaand SCENE.
Don't worry, everything is better, no one is angry, no one is scared, now you give eachother some kind of physical feedback like a kiss or a solid hug and everyone can stop freaking out.
Unfortunately, written out that way, it looks like total bullshit the way people communicate.
But its not.
Saying how you feel is fucking hard, because the assumption is usually that you will be rejected after you've said your piece.
No one likes a complainer, or a drama queen, or a baby.
And everyone is scared all of the time to change things that feel off. Because once you admit they are off, you're really in trouble if you don't intend to step up and right the wrongs.
We all know who I'm talking about and I don't really like that because I value the privacy he and I still maintain most of the time.
But this relates to every single romantic relationship anyone will ever have so its not even like MY r'ship is being revealed here.
Yes, I say r'ship.
All the time.
Usually daily.
Because that is all girls talk about anyway.
R'ships.
I'm really sorry that I have to take it here, but, the moral of the story is
"Your R'ship will only sail successfully in the waters of truth and open hearts."
Most schmaltzy thing I have ever said?
Or.
Most awesome thing I have ever said.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
you know i know better, i dont wanna go
I just thought of a Wadsworth quote; 'the best thing to do when it's raining is to let it rain'
I haven't blogged since August.
I was letting it rain.
Making it rain on these hos.
Not at all that last sentence though.
It is in fact raining cats and dawgs right meow in NYC.
My apartment is really good for rain observing because of my two bedroom windows. They face the church across the street.
On beautiful sunny mornings the first thing I see is the glow of the stained glass piece and usually a bird or two perched on the top lip of it.
But as of right now with the windows open I can hear the rain hit my fire escape. Its painted green and in the spring I will sit out there watering flowers. I realize that doesn't sound like me but I'm going to do it so just fuck off.
Sometimes I miss the Gypsy Den apartment but thats ridiculous because I spent 5 months a year sick in that place. Here my heat comes hissing out of the radiators and I have to open a window so I don't die of warmth. So I think I should stop romanticizing the past and accept I found a rad spot for myself.
Living alone is in fact in a word, lonely.
I talk out loud to myself a lot just like my mom does.
For the first time in my life I feel like I need a television.
So I bought one today.
The end of the summer was too craze to write honestly.
Trying to have a normal healthy relationship with a man is super intense. It's endless maintenance for me. I'm always checking myself before I say something too insane that will hint at how 'damaged goods' I am.
That may be an exaggeration, but in truth I have changed so much in the last year of my life. I have moments where I think I am the luckiest person to ever have lived. I'm funny and smart and super cute and I have great hair. My boif is a good listener and we actually have an amazing time together without boozing ourselves semi-unconscious. He cares about movies and bands and good appetizers.
My friends are doing their own shit but they put up with me changing everything about my life and I don't think they hate me yet. I think they still love me.
Now that I have a job again finally I feel like I can go out and meet them places and gossip over a drink or 6.
Not that it really matters because it's over but here's some things I haven't forgotten yet from September and October.
PS my birthday was fairly uninteresting so I don't even care to mention much about it. I got good presents though. And now I'm in my LATE 20s. So there's that. Maybe when I'm 30 I won't be such a fucking crybaby. Fingies crossed forever.
Just to tie up some loose ends, I finally got a picture of what I looked like just before destroying my arm and ruining my summer. Falling down stairs in this outfit isn't right.
Nikki Bowman our dear friend has been sent away by the evil king of American Apparel to go run stores in the middle of nowhere. We have spent the last month missing her. Pizza. Kittens. Cowboy boots. Giggling. Hugging. Its all Bowman oriented.
When I moved I couldn't sleep at my new place. I did a lot of this.
It's a happy thought most of the time.
I feel like I am talking about my insides when I talk about this so that's quite enough.
Chiara moved to Scotland or something crazy like that so this was the last time I saw her. I just had a dream last night that we were talking on the phone and for some reason she had this heavy New York accent. It made me wake up laughing.
In reality we have maybe talked on the phone 5 times in my life. She still had/has one of those 'original' phones like without internet access or 'apps'
And she never seems to check her email.
What an alien.
Shes great, I hope she comes back.
Tally Dead Dead came to see me on a whim twice in the last two months.
He makes me a kid. The most wild genius kid in the universe. He's my Carol.
(In reference to the movie adaptation Where The Wild Things Are: yes i am already utilizing this film as a pop culture parallel to my life)
I went to Atlantic City again for the third or fourth time this year. This time was for Steven's birthday. I had the greatest time. Dude in the globe cage is riding his motorcycle so fast you can't even see him in there.
The last thing we did was sit outside on the steps of the boardwalk. A girl started to throw up by us. She had just gotten engaged that day. Something about it was strangely charming. This story does not translate well.
It was a very exciting night though.
It's my greatest flashback of September.
My second greatest September night was Fever Ray at Webster Hall. I was accompanied by fellow live music nerds Liv and Crystal. If I try to describe it I won't do it justice. We stood up in the balcony and looked down through lasers and smoke. It was like if a bunch of Scandinavian people-eaters had a rain dance party with magical fireflies for lamplight deep in the ravers forest by the sea of mystery and intrigue. Then they made love to their instrument machines and tried to talk to robot god. In costume.
These photos are the worst.
As usual, I fail to operate any camera to get desired image.
That is Cocoa telling me to pet her head gently.
That is the most unfortunate looking teenager I have ever seen, hands down.
One of my few rowdy nights out of late.
I was inebriated by 11pm.
I blame it on the free gallery booze. I feel like its always trouble for me. Because when I'm not payin, I'm DRANKIN. Yes.
A. That's Alger with stars shaved into his head.
B. Thats a medical glove on Crystal's foot, used like a sock. It did not work out well for her.
I went to Maryland for a couple of nights.
Driving again is fun.
I found out that popular radio is awful generally.
But in St Micheals we found 107.1 THE DUCK, which I may have to go ahead and say....best station ever?
Steven slept a lot.
I tried crabcake something or other and had the weirdest childhood flashback of eating it sometime somewhere. It tasted like memory.
To follow are pictures of Steven. When two people go somewhere together, they simply take pictures of eachother, not with eachother. This is not good for blogging purposes because it makes me look as thought I am following around some dude documenting his day when really, there was just no third person to photograph these joint experiences. Imagine me in there doing the same things. Smiling/scowling. Then it won't seem so dumb.
Steven James reflective fireside moments.
City people look like assholes once out of the city.
When I look at this I think of Bluto. From Popeye. Only adorbs.
Opposite of adorbs.
Pretend lighthouse keeper 'sleeping'
Or just giving me daymares.
I wish he was being a crab for Halloween.
We ate yummy food and I remembered why people leave the city and sit in yards.
And perfectly, as I typed that Phil Collins came on shuffle.
That sort of sums everything up.
This morning I found an empty notebook with PM Dawn on the cover. Jeylan gave it to me a while back and I never used it.
I sat in my tiny bathroom with my cat and wrote in the first page. It felt like something I hadn't done in so long. I mean, I wasn't GOING to the bathroom, I was just sitting in there because it's conducive to some kind of open thought.
So thats that.
Documentation commences because observation and commentary is an inherent part of my little dust speck of life.
Paaaar examplay:
The people outside sound like Prada shoes, expensive cocktails and bad taste. I am not even looking at them out the window and I can hear the possibility of regrettable hookups and Saturday douchbaggery.
With that, I am going to continue listening to this man and dreaming of a future as great as his epic cornball songs.
I haven't blogged since August.
I was letting it rain.
Making it rain on these hos.
Not at all that last sentence though.
It is in fact raining cats and dawgs right meow in NYC.
My apartment is really good for rain observing because of my two bedroom windows. They face the church across the street.
On beautiful sunny mornings the first thing I see is the glow of the stained glass piece and usually a bird or two perched on the top lip of it.
But as of right now with the windows open I can hear the rain hit my fire escape. Its painted green and in the spring I will sit out there watering flowers. I realize that doesn't sound like me but I'm going to do it so just fuck off.
Sometimes I miss the Gypsy Den apartment but thats ridiculous because I spent 5 months a year sick in that place. Here my heat comes hissing out of the radiators and I have to open a window so I don't die of warmth. So I think I should stop romanticizing the past and accept I found a rad spot for myself.
Living alone is in fact in a word, lonely.
I talk out loud to myself a lot just like my mom does.
For the first time in my life I feel like I need a television.
So I bought one today.
The end of the summer was too craze to write honestly.
Trying to have a normal healthy relationship with a man is super intense. It's endless maintenance for me. I'm always checking myself before I say something too insane that will hint at how 'damaged goods' I am.
That may be an exaggeration, but in truth I have changed so much in the last year of my life. I have moments where I think I am the luckiest person to ever have lived. I'm funny and smart and super cute and I have great hair. My boif is a good listener and we actually have an amazing time together without boozing ourselves semi-unconscious. He cares about movies and bands and good appetizers.
My friends are doing their own shit but they put up with me changing everything about my life and I don't think they hate me yet. I think they still love me.
Now that I have a job again finally I feel like I can go out and meet them places and gossip over a drink or 6.
Not that it really matters because it's over but here's some things I haven't forgotten yet from September and October.
PS my birthday was fairly uninteresting so I don't even care to mention much about it. I got good presents though. And now I'm in my LATE 20s. So there's that. Maybe when I'm 30 I won't be such a fucking crybaby. Fingies crossed forever.
Just to tie up some loose ends, I finally got a picture of what I looked like just before destroying my arm and ruining my summer. Falling down stairs in this outfit isn't right.
Nikki Bowman our dear friend has been sent away by the evil king of American Apparel to go run stores in the middle of nowhere. We have spent the last month missing her. Pizza. Kittens. Cowboy boots. Giggling. Hugging. Its all Bowman oriented.
When I moved I couldn't sleep at my new place. I did a lot of this.
It's a happy thought most of the time.
I feel like I am talking about my insides when I talk about this so that's quite enough.
Chiara moved to Scotland or something crazy like that so this was the last time I saw her. I just had a dream last night that we were talking on the phone and for some reason she had this heavy New York accent. It made me wake up laughing.
In reality we have maybe talked on the phone 5 times in my life. She still had/has one of those 'original' phones like without internet access or 'apps'
And she never seems to check her email.
What an alien.
Shes great, I hope she comes back.
Tally Dead Dead came to see me on a whim twice in the last two months.
He makes me a kid. The most wild genius kid in the universe. He's my Carol.
(In reference to the movie adaptation Where The Wild Things Are: yes i am already utilizing this film as a pop culture parallel to my life)
I went to Atlantic City again for the third or fourth time this year. This time was for Steven's birthday. I had the greatest time. Dude in the globe cage is riding his motorcycle so fast you can't even see him in there.
The last thing we did was sit outside on the steps of the boardwalk. A girl started to throw up by us. She had just gotten engaged that day. Something about it was strangely charming. This story does not translate well.
It was a very exciting night though.
It's my greatest flashback of September.
My second greatest September night was Fever Ray at Webster Hall. I was accompanied by fellow live music nerds Liv and Crystal. If I try to describe it I won't do it justice. We stood up in the balcony and looked down through lasers and smoke. It was like if a bunch of Scandinavian people-eaters had a rain dance party with magical fireflies for lamplight deep in the ravers forest by the sea of mystery and intrigue. Then they made love to their instrument machines and tried to talk to robot god. In costume.
These photos are the worst.
As usual, I fail to operate any camera to get desired image.
That is Cocoa telling me to pet her head gently.
That is the most unfortunate looking teenager I have ever seen, hands down.
One of my few rowdy nights out of late.
I was inebriated by 11pm.
I blame it on the free gallery booze. I feel like its always trouble for me. Because when I'm not payin, I'm DRANKIN. Yes.
A. That's Alger with stars shaved into his head.
B. Thats a medical glove on Crystal's foot, used like a sock. It did not work out well for her.
I went to Maryland for a couple of nights.
Driving again is fun.
I found out that popular radio is awful generally.
But in St Micheals we found 107.1 THE DUCK, which I may have to go ahead and say....best station ever?
Steven slept a lot.
I tried crabcake something or other and had the weirdest childhood flashback of eating it sometime somewhere. It tasted like memory.
To follow are pictures of Steven. When two people go somewhere together, they simply take pictures of eachother, not with eachother. This is not good for blogging purposes because it makes me look as thought I am following around some dude documenting his day when really, there was just no third person to photograph these joint experiences. Imagine me in there doing the same things. Smiling/scowling. Then it won't seem so dumb.
Steven James reflective fireside moments.
City people look like assholes once out of the city.
When I look at this I think of Bluto. From Popeye. Only adorbs.
Opposite of adorbs.
Pretend lighthouse keeper 'sleeping'
Or just giving me daymares.
I wish he was being a crab for Halloween.
We ate yummy food and I remembered why people leave the city and sit in yards.
And perfectly, as I typed that Phil Collins came on shuffle.
That sort of sums everything up.
This morning I found an empty notebook with PM Dawn on the cover. Jeylan gave it to me a while back and I never used it.
I sat in my tiny bathroom with my cat and wrote in the first page. It felt like something I hadn't done in so long. I mean, I wasn't GOING to the bathroom, I was just sitting in there because it's conducive to some kind of open thought.
So thats that.
Documentation commences because observation and commentary is an inherent part of my little dust speck of life.
Paaaar examplay:
The people outside sound like Prada shoes, expensive cocktails and bad taste. I am not even looking at them out the window and I can hear the possibility of regrettable hookups and Saturday douchbaggery.
With that, I am going to continue listening to this man and dreaming of a future as great as his epic cornball songs.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Sonar
I could listen to these noises all day.
I feel like my home is the sea even thought its terrifying.
Right now thinking about how cool and dark it is with all those creaking sounds and the lull.
Its like being awesomely dead!
PS Side note: everyone go see Inglorious Basterds right now.
Best movie of the year.
Frealtho.
I feel like my home is the sea even thought its terrifying.
Right now thinking about how cool and dark it is with all those creaking sounds and the lull.
Its like being awesomely dead!
PS Side note: everyone go see Inglorious Basterds right now.
Best movie of the year.
Frealtho.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
As it all happened.
Atlantic City, where I was crippled.
Before that, I was happy with my ponies.
For Nikki
For big tobacco
For pepaws everywhere
For the club heads
For the live streaming text wall at Ego
For Pennsylvania Valley Girls
For the get-down
For fellow Lolitas
For the poshest boardwalk shoppers
For my white Africaans
For my black herbs
For my scowl
For sun worshippers
For beach hair
For contorting Asian showstoppery
For the love of dipping
For mod
MoreMoreMore
Before that, I was happy with my ponies.
For Nikki
For big tobacco
For pepaws everywhere
For the club heads
For the live streaming text wall at Ego
For Pennsylvania Valley Girls
For the get-down
For fellow Lolitas
For the poshest boardwalk shoppers
For my white Africaans
For my black herbs
For my scowl
For sun worshippers
For beach hair
For contorting Asian showstoppery
For the love of dipping
For mod
MoreMoreMore
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
