In 20 minutes I'll be studying for a Political Theory final, philosophy is the only thing about politics I enjoy. Who will be the next speaker of the house or the amount of money spent on education is just not that interesting to me. So there's that, and the comic book.
I'm really into writing that. I've got the rough draft done and a couple of scenes crudely drawn.
A friend (hopefully I can still call him that, something just seemed off to me) gave me a blip of advice that helped a lot.
"It doesn't have to be a then this happened, then this, then this ect." Well hot damn, really?
I joke, but unfortunately my mind was a tad stuck and I needed to hear that.
Someone I slept with is only 22. I didn't know this. It's been bothering me for awhile. Not wake me up in the night type of thing, but it just made me feel foolish. Even if he has already accomplished more than I have at almost 24, I'm still shocked I would have ever considered him. I don't mean that I would never have slept with him, I'm no closer to understanding the gravity of a sexual interaction or my own choices, but I can't believe I thought something more substantial could have been there. Even now, at 24 I go back and forth in my mind between being completely alone and free to the desire to remain in the comfort and love that I have now. Is there something wrong with me? Should I be ready to have babies, get married and shop at places that combine all of needs? I'm just too restless (or reckless) of a person.
And why do we stay in relationships? Could you not have companionship without monogamy? Is it even fucking about that? Or do we do it to be safe, to protect our bodies and our minds?
I have hard time believing the meaning of life lies in a bed shared by two people, but I don't think you'll get it in one shared by twenty either.
My dad asked me recently if I felt bad about ALL of my friends graduating and getting married. Initially all I could think about is how it's really hard for me to pronounce "graduating" even though I have to say so often at work.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Can't take my eyes off you - 10 things I hate about you
Actor Heath Ledger has died, possibly from a drug overdose from pills. His death was first reported by page six, I believe. He's going to play the Joker in the next Batman movie.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Disconnecting The FBI
Looks like the FBI can't afford all those wiretapping accounts, pity. The story is coming from the AP, but I found it on boingboing.net a superb site.
I think ferns are ugly
They remind me of the 80's and people had poor plant fads then, along with bad drug choices, clothing, and the desire to build large walls. Thank God we're past the 80's.
CHOKE
Burgin and I had a quick exchange about Chuck Palahnuik the other night:
"I don't think I can read anymore," said the Btown.
"No, I don't think I can either," said the girl.
It's true I am done with Chuck P., but I am eagerly anticipating the film adaptation release of Choke. I think they picked an amazing cast (ANGELICA HUSTON as Victor Mancini's mom), yet I agree with the blogger who heads up Filmdrunk.com, that it's absurd the film was only given a 3 million dollar budget!
Embroidery Gone Slutty
I absolutely love this collection of tops by Lochers. The designer, Nicole Locher became inspired to create embrodiered pieces after rummaging through her grandmother's drawers. She wanted to make tops that had the whimsical beauty of antique embroidery, but with a contemporary attitude. So on each piece you'll find a little saying of vulgarity that instantly justifies the "girly girly" vibe of the stitched flowers. Not that there's anything wrong with a ultra femine top, but I just couldn't pull something like that off, without "good girls don't swallow," stiched across my back. www.lochers.com
Sunday, January 6, 2008
I can't kill a zombie without a latte
Last night I had one super hero'rific dream. Let me break it down for ya.
looking girls chatting and presumably I'm not sure what kind of party this is. Resham is in between two other vaguely familiardiscussing their outfits and shoes. I'm on the left of a stage with a drink in hand whilst engaged in a convo with Lance Bass. I didn't like N'sync or any of the boy bands when I was growing up. I actually found them a tad creepy and way to over done to be good looking, but he was there and we were chatting. People I knew moved in and out of the party, the stage was vacant and eventually I began to believe that the space was on the UH campus. Then, after I politely explain to Lance I don't care what his sexual orientation is I'd just like a drink, in walks a zombie. The zombie was tall and moved slow, no one seemed to be shocked or frightened, just a little put off, like "oh God here comes George again. I just know he's going to make me look at his pictures of birds". So, I guess we'll call him George. Anyways, in saunters or slouches George. It felt like when a concert is let out, or a play and everyone is just waiting. The way a cluster of human beings stand in a room after a mutual experience of delight or enticement and now need to share a quick, "that was great," or perhaps "I hate that fucking actor," before exiting. George is taller than the people in the waiting room, he's also dead looking. Typical zombie with his head cricked to the side and a dirty shirt. My body starts to move toward him and in this inertia of initiative I've never had before. I move quickly to him, pull out a long knife from a leather case on my right thigh and slit poor George's throat. Now the waiting room moves too. They disperse, disappear really and I find myself in a car. Victoria and a friend from highschool, Milin are riding with me. We know we have to get away. That the apocalypse is on it's way and the only thing we can do is run. Our car makes it to a bridge and we stop. We're still at UH and decide to walk a little. Looking for others that we left, or may need help. We stop into a college bookstore for supplies. Grabbing a backpack, I fill it with batteries, water, a blanket and whatever food is packaged. In my dream I begin to realise that once I leave the bookstore a alarm will go off, but I need the bloody backpack. I can't carry all this shit, and where the hell is Victoria. I start to search for her, and see that at the back of the bookstore is a Starbucks. Victoria is ordering a latte. I walk up to her and instead of screaming, we can't stop for a fucking coffee, dream Emily orders a "white mocha latte, please". The employees seemed just as ignorant of the apocalypse and what exactly a zombie fucking means, and take their time getting our drinks together. Somewhere in all of this I find my newest stray, pick her up and tell the Starbucks employees to "Get off your fucking lazy ass and make my latte, how the fuck can I fight the living dead without caffeine". Total outrage, don't they know I'm the only person who knows how to kill the zombies? This is still a tad off to me, why is no one else taking charge? Why is Victoria perfectly calm and already has her latte? She even tries to tell me it isn't their fault, while the employees bitch about their hair in the back. She starts to make my drink and I become enraged. Screaming "that's their job," and demanding a gift card...because I don't know Starbucks will survive this apocalyptic nightmare. Eventually I walk away and encounter another George kind of guy and slit his throat too. Except, I'm afraid of him. He's much larger than me and I proceed to stab and push him. Hoping to knock him down enough so I can have another go at his neck. And not once do I let go of the stray.
This dream means nothing. It means I'm reading a book about the apocalypse that's written by Pratchett and Gaiman, that I saw Kill Bill for the first time two nights ago, and a smoked a little reefer before going to bed. I killed the last bit of a small amount I bought months, months ago. I wanted to be done with it. I don't mind smoking. I guess I'm just sort of ready to move on. I'm also ready to learn how to cook. I can't afford to eat out all the time, and I think it would be a shame if I let my dago genes go to waste. This isn't about writing well tonight, or even trying to put out some message. Or explain to someone taking the time to read this, why Matt and I aren't together. That is personal, and I hope will remain so. I do feel abandon right now. I haven't seen my supposed best friend in a while and certainly not one on one. I understand why, but I don't know something feels off. And some of my other close friends seem too busy or too drunk to play with. I've been contacted by a few ravenous boys since my profile went "single" and am disgusted by this. Literarly the day of. This is only furthering my belief that any man interested in me, is more than likely connected with Satan and I must have been a high priestess of dead babies in a past life. I shouldn't have made(or listened to) all those dead baby jokes. I like to think this entry is a labryinth of grammatical errors and poor spelling. To almost deflect anyone from making it all the way to here.
looking girls chatting and presumably I'm not sure what kind of party this is. Resham is in between two other vaguely familiardiscussing their outfits and shoes. I'm on the left of a stage with a drink in hand whilst engaged in a convo with Lance Bass. I didn't like N'sync or any of the boy bands when I was growing up. I actually found them a tad creepy and way to over done to be good looking, but he was there and we were chatting. People I knew moved in and out of the party, the stage was vacant and eventually I began to believe that the space was on the UH campus. Then, after I politely explain to Lance I don't care what his sexual orientation is I'd just like a drink, in walks a zombie. The zombie was tall and moved slow, no one seemed to be shocked or frightened, just a little put off, like "oh God here comes George again. I just know he's going to make me look at his pictures of birds". So, I guess we'll call him George. Anyways, in saunters or slouches George. It felt like when a concert is let out, or a play and everyone is just waiting. The way a cluster of human beings stand in a room after a mutual experience of delight or enticement and now need to share a quick, "that was great," or perhaps "I hate that fucking actor," before exiting. George is taller than the people in the waiting room, he's also dead looking. Typical zombie with his head cricked to the side and a dirty shirt. My body starts to move toward him and in this inertia of initiative I've never had before. I move quickly to him, pull out a long knife from a leather case on my right thigh and slit poor George's throat. Now the waiting room moves too. They disperse, disappear really and I find myself in a car. Victoria and a friend from highschool, Milin are riding with me. We know we have to get away. That the apocalypse is on it's way and the only thing we can do is run. Our car makes it to a bridge and we stop. We're still at UH and decide to walk a little. Looking for others that we left, or may need help. We stop into a college bookstore for supplies. Grabbing a backpack, I fill it with batteries, water, a blanket and whatever food is packaged. In my dream I begin to realise that once I leave the bookstore a alarm will go off, but I need the bloody backpack. I can't carry all this shit, and where the hell is Victoria. I start to search for her, and see that at the back of the bookstore is a Starbucks. Victoria is ordering a latte. I walk up to her and instead of screaming, we can't stop for a fucking coffee, dream Emily orders a "white mocha latte, please". The employees seemed just as ignorant of the apocalypse and what exactly a zombie fucking means, and take their time getting our drinks together. Somewhere in all of this I find my newest stray, pick her up and tell the Starbucks employees to "Get off your fucking lazy ass and make my latte, how the fuck can I fight the living dead without caffeine". Total outrage, don't they know I'm the only person who knows how to kill the zombies? This is still a tad off to me, why is no one else taking charge? Why is Victoria perfectly calm and already has her latte? She even tries to tell me it isn't their fault, while the employees bitch about their hair in the back. She starts to make my drink and I become enraged. Screaming "that's their job," and demanding a gift card...because I don't know Starbucks will survive this apocalyptic nightmare. Eventually I walk away and encounter another George kind of guy and slit his throat too. Except, I'm afraid of him. He's much larger than me and I proceed to stab and push him. Hoping to knock him down enough so I can have another go at his neck. And not once do I let go of the stray.
This dream means nothing. It means I'm reading a book about the apocalypse that's written by Pratchett and Gaiman, that I saw Kill Bill for the first time two nights ago, and a smoked a little reefer before going to bed. I killed the last bit of a small amount I bought months, months ago. I wanted to be done with it. I don't mind smoking. I guess I'm just sort of ready to move on. I'm also ready to learn how to cook. I can't afford to eat out all the time, and I think it would be a shame if I let my dago genes go to waste. This isn't about writing well tonight, or even trying to put out some message. Or explain to someone taking the time to read this, why Matt and I aren't together. That is personal, and I hope will remain so. I do feel abandon right now. I haven't seen my supposed best friend in a while and certainly not one on one. I understand why, but I don't know something feels off. And some of my other close friends seem too busy or too drunk to play with. I've been contacted by a few ravenous boys since my profile went "single" and am disgusted by this. Literarly the day of. This is only furthering my belief that any man interested in me, is more than likely connected with Satan and I must have been a high priestess of dead babies in a past life. I shouldn't have made(or listened to) all those dead baby jokes. I like to think this entry is a labryinth of grammatical errors and poor spelling. To almost deflect anyone from making it all the way to here.
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