december in jp

battle with devil kitten

franklin has some problems with aggression.

last christmas

i gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away.

the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

last night, from a little dark corner in the back of the theater i watched bon iver cover the outfield. amazing. it's right up there with metric's cover of between the bars. speaking of which, justin vernon and emily haines would make some godlike offspring. they should definitely have sex.



a perfect little night. perfect set, one perfect cover, perfect room and perfect corner. it made me feel settled and basic, and i left wanting to come to some sort of conclusion. i'm still not sure what exactly i was inclined to conclude, but it was satisfying enough just to feel the urge.

this band is serious.

looks like light and love, neither of which i get enough of

question: when did nada surf become a guilty pleasure? because you know what, they're so great and i totally don't feel guilty about loving them. they love me back! they're reliable in that sense, and sometimes that's all a girl needs. matthew caws looked deeply into my eyes on tuesday when he sang, "baby, i just want to make you happy," i swear. and he does! they all do, the whole band. even the bass player who managed to puff a cigarette throughout the entire set, even while singing back-up vocals (talent).

did you get my phone call? i intentionally called you during 'happy kid' and not the incredible, heart-wrenching acoustic performance of 'blizzard of '77' (you would have died). my reasoning for this made perfect sense after a few vodka-sodas. it still makes sense, actually. god i'm brilliant.



also, i bought a t-shirt! it has an unzipped heart on the front. perfection.

their floor is our ceiling,

sneaky architects.

it's that time of year...

for the MARTINI THANKSGIVING EXTRAVAGANZA!

it's so hard to believe that it was seven (!) years ago, my freshman year at lehigh, that i was first invited to the martini household for thanksgiving. i remember sitting down to dinner and telling jeff and dianne the story of how in high school, some crazy montanan cut off the head of a deer i'd hit with my car. they immediately took me in as one of their own, quickly concluding that i was quirky enough to mesh with their mildly dysfunctional but loving family. thank god they did. it has now been seven years, and i look forward to thanksgiving every november. not only do i get to spend some quality dork-time with my bff (see below, on the right), but i get to feel like i'm home (away from home...) for a few relaxing days. i love it. and i love the martini fam.

i took these photos last year. kiffy (see left), n's little bro, doesn't seem to understand that we're getting married (sorry sarah). it's really the easiest way for me to officially become part of the family.






so as i make the long, bumper-to-bumper journey down to nj (bolt bus, free wifi...yeahh), i've been reflecting on this past year and all the things that i feel thankful for, you know, since it's the time of thanks and everything.

here is the list i've constructed. each statement is meant to be directed toward a special person in my life. to spice things up a bit, try and guess which one(s) is/are for you!!!

• thank you for taking me into your home, seven years in a row, and treating me as part of your family. you're amazing.
  
• thank you for putting up with my kitten even though he bites you. he'll grow out of it, i promise.
  
• thank you for making the trip from new york to boston just to see me.
  
• thank you for constantly reminding me about my neuropsych testing appointments because i have a terrible habit of forgetting to write things down.
  
• thank you for meeting me in vegas and being my beautiful, life-long blood sisters.
  
• thank you for pouring me stellas and entertaining my flirtations even though you're married. i really like your tattoos.
  
• thank you for being possibly the coolest person i know and rocking the half-marathon with me in style.
  
• thank you for loving my boot-dance, even though you tell me you hate it. i know you're secretly jealous of my moves.
  
• thank you for rescuing me after my bike crash, and for spending hours with me in the ER. i won't forget it.
  
• thank you for not judging me. we both know you probably should.
  
• thank you for fixing my bike even though i punched you in the face.
  
• thank you for flying all the way across the country just to come to my birthday party.
  
• thank you for paying my cell phone bill.
  
• thank you for coming to boston, smoking hookah with me, and reminiscing about our grandmother.
  
• thank you for letting me get us into trouble every time we go to the enormous room. you know how much i love trouble...
  
• thank you for that earth-shattering, toe-curling orgasm.
  
• thank you for never letting me win when we play darts. i know you know i like the challenge, despite how much i pout when i lose.
  
• thank you for the shots of jameson.
  
• thank you for understanding that i become a different person when i drink whiskey. thank you for also understanding that this person is aggressive and somewhat destructive.
  
• thank you for the dirty text messages.
  
• thank you for your love, the kind you clean up with a mop and bucket.
  
• thank you for editing my poetry without making fun of me.
  
• thank you for helping me see things like you do. thank you for inspiring me to write.
  
• thank you for being in boston. you made me love this city again.
  
• thank you for believing in me, encouraging me, and making me think that i actually may be able to swing this grad school thing.
  
  ...and of course
• thank you for reading my blog! it has been fun for me, i hope you're enjoying it. :)
  
  
  happy thanksgiving!
  xo

personal statement, version #792, 'somehow life goes on in a place so insane'

upon my first listening of the song 'whiskey bottle' by uncle tupelo, i knew i was meant to be a psychologist. i feel the lyrics perfectly capture the crux of my psychological existence.


uncle tupelo - whiskey bottle

persuaded, paraded, enebriated, and down
still aware of everything life carries on without
cause there's one too many faces with dollar sign smiles
got to find the shortest path to the bar... for a while

a long way from happiness
in a three-hour-away town
whiskey bottle over jesus
not forever, just for now
not forever, just for now

there's a trouble around, it's never far away
the same trouble's been around for a life and a day
i can't forget the sound, 'cause it's here to stay
the sound of people chasing money and money getting away

a long way from happiness
in a three-hour-away town
whiskey bottle over jesus
not forever, just for now
not forever, just for now

in between the dirt and disgust there must be
some air to breathe and something to believe
liquor and guns the sign says quite plain
somehow life goes on in a place so insane

a long way from happiness
in a three-hour-away town
whiskey bottle over jesus
not forever, just for now
not forever, just for now...

personal statement, version #387: the essence of psychology

there's a room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall of the room with a picture on the wall...............

a failure to maintain a desired pace

there has been a lag, i know.

i've been desperately and furiously attempting to write my personal statement for my graduate school applications.

and this really means a lot to me. grad school, psychology, research, a career...you know. sometimes it feels like it means everything.

i'll be wrapped around your finger.

thank you

to everyone who made my 25th my favorite birthday.

i think it's gonna be a good year.

one year wiser

last night amid celebratory drinks, my mind was bursting with philosophical thoughts associated with the movie dark city. this has happened before, and typically involves mildly inarticulate rantings that unsuccessfully elucidate the limitations of human consciousness and nature vs. nurture...blah blah blah. anyway. after sobering up and sifting through my musings, i actually came to some important realizations about the movie (and LIFE) that i naturally feel the need to disclose (in addition to the obvious, which is that jennifer connelly picks amazing roles: dark city, a beautiful mind, and labyrinth...this woman is so cool!).

to begin, the division and containment of the parasitic alien entity into dead human bodies is BRILLIANT. i love how all the embodied aliens chant together like little lemmings. i think it's such a perfect, literal display of the alien's attempt to separate its amorphous form into individuals by taking over the bodies, but its inability to rid itself of the congenital solidarity of the collective consciousness and consequently, its failure to actually realize and obtain distinctive self-awareness in each human body.

this concept is totally reflected in the "experiments" as well, because in general, the human subjects are treated as one system. the alien forms move around pieces within the system, exchanging memories and manipulating experiences until none of the subjects are really separate entities anymore; everyone is each other, everyone has shared memories and contrived, injected pasts within the contained universe that the aliens have created. it's completely ironic (and perfectly fitting) because if they really wanted to figure out the nature of the human soul, these aliens should have been studying a person as one, honing in on a singular being rather than a muddy mass of cognizance...but because they just can't grasp that idea (because of their collective nature), they insist on using this whole-system, synthesis-focused approach that doesn't really get them anywhere. HOWEVER, because their subjects are human, their self-containment prevents them from catching on to what the aliens are doing to them. so, they continue to live and trust in their memories and believe they are enclosed, individual beings.

blind, egocentric faith.

this, my friends, is precisely the difference between the humans and the aliens. the "soul," if you will. the one notion that the aliens, despite their exhaustive efforts, could never understand because they just weren't wired to look at existence in that way. it's sad, actually. i feel for them.

these are the things i contemplate now that i'm 25.

eeek!

GRE tomorrow morning. wish me luck...

i'm terrible at halloween

memorable costumes,

ages 2, 3, and 4: since it was always cold in montana, my parents insisted on finding a costume that could fit OVER my winter coat. consequently, halloween evoked my earliest experiences of humiliation. i remember being a fat little bumble bee and a fat little penguin. ugh. i hated my parents for that.

age 5: i was batman. people kept calling me batgirl and i very vehemently corrected them ("no, i'm batMAN"). this was by far my best costume ever.

ages 10, 11, 12, and 13: vampire. every year. loved every second.

ages 14, 15, and 16: devil. every year. loved every second.

age 17: scarecrow. i'm still not sure why i thought this was a good idea. the costume was bulky and plaid and i stuffed myself with straw. this was quite possibly the least sexiest display i could've come up with, and it was right during that time when all the rest of my peers had figured out that halloween is really just an excuse to look slutty. shameful.

age 19: slutty fireman. ridiculous. seriously, the costume involved galoshes over red fishnets. i guess i still didn't fully understand the concept of 'sexy-ing it up'. also, that year i attended a couples party where you were supposed to match your date. my date was spongebob squarepants. yes, i know, this made no sense at all.

must have cardinology.

i will pick up a copy immediately. and none of this mp4, soul-sucking digitization bullshit. ryan adams is sex, he deserves to be heard and felt in hard form.

some things are happening tonight

it's perfect and windy and fall. a little rain, more perfect. i'm smoking cigarettes because i can and i don't fully comprehend the consequences. maybe i will in two weeks when i'm 25. the glowing peak of my cigarette reminds me of that little candle we light during the christmas eve service. you know, the one you light at the end when everyone gets absorbed and sings silent night.

via text:

me: i think we should go to a psychic.

me: partly for a blog piece. but mostly for the soul.

t: can we please, you know we both need it.

me: i think this is something you can use your parents' credit card for. say you're bleeding emotionally.

t: i mean, i don't know what i would do without your brilliance. we are committing to doing this tomorrow.

me: deal.

we will live forever and you know it's true

quick study break. not sure how much longer i can forcefully shove these words into my skull. all i want to do is call someone who cares and tell them about the semi-secret elephant six show in chicago and how jeff mangum (!) showed his face. apparently he waved his hands and conjured up this chorus within the audience and they all sang and sort of chanted, "we will live forever and you know it's true". !!!!!! he might be jesus, for real. i'm pretty sure some sort of cultic apotheosis occurred.

i'm so blown away that more people don't understand the genius that is jeff mangum and was neutral milk hotel (was, is, will be again...who knows...).

seriously, this is awesomely creepy. i wish i could've been there:



okay, now back to studying.

pellucidity

there was a guest psychiatrist from copenhagen at work today, he had an angular face with beady blue eyes. it seemed like he might turn into some hairy creature under the full moon. i picture him sprouting coarse hair on his back and defying gravitational laws, howling. he was interesting, i felt the urge to watch his mouth move when he spoke. he told us about self-awareness in schizophrenia. sometimes he changed the topic and his inflection completely and nobody noticed, it all flowed naturally like a dream. he made me think about what it would be like to wake up and suddenly feel that it was strange to have a body. maybe it is strange to have a body, to be contained.

there are days when i leave work feeling very inspired. today was one of them. i left thinking i'm going to turn into the best damn psychologist that ever came out of montana. it all made sense today, meant something. it made me think that learning the GRE hit parade might actually be worthwhile.

(hhhhhh. i'm sick of studying.)

(i'm also sick of not drinking coffee and not eating cheese. yes i know, it has only been three days...)

so now it's friday night and i'm sitting alone in my apartment with franklin (i'm sooo lame), twelve stacks of words to memorize because graduate students must have a very expansive vocabulary. there are some people i miss. there are some places i'd rather be than here:

1. aberdeen
2. seattle, drinking wine with darby
3. flathead lake, in a tent by a campfire
4. the best thai restaurant in new york, the name starts with an S and multiple people have told me about it but i still haven't been...it's in queens.

(i wish i had the power of teleportation.)

oh, and just in case you didn't know (i just learned this word):

pel·lu·cid: –adjective
1. allowing the maximum passage of light, as glass; translucent.
2. clear in meaning, expression, or style: a pellucid way of writing.

gluey feathers on a flume

when i was young my grandparents bought a few acres of land deep in the canyon that runs between montana and wyoming. they built a beautiful log cabin with their hands. they raised horses and grew boysenberries next to the stream that you could see and hear from every window in the cabin.

my family spent some thanksgivings and a christmas or two at the oasis. to get there we had to depart from the already desolate highway and position the tires of our pick-up truck onto two narrow, parallel divots that served as the permanently provisional road. we had to drive down it for an hour, at least, but it was always worth it. i remember when i was twelve and there was so much snow. the snow felt different way out there, not really cold but just clean. modest. i remember walking out into the canyon and seeing a rattlesnake gliding through the frozen thicket. i remember crawling in the caves and discovering tribal etchings on the rock walls. i remember never caring when the snow found its way into my boot, melting in the interstice between my foot and shoe, saturating my sock. i remember my grandmother and how everyone always said i looked like her.

bon iver feels like i felt back then.



with the show only two months away (dec. 14th!!!), you should have anticipated this post. i can't wait. i will go and shut my eyes and just listen. then i will languish all over justin vernon's face.

if i die clutching your photograph..

don't call me boring, it's just cause i like you.

so serious

me: well i do want to be serious. i'm a very serious girl.

c: you can be.

me: hhhhhhhh. i need to get my tea leaves read.

c: i once had my palm read. she said my best time would be in my forties. that seems sorta awesome.

me: totally.

it's a sin to live so well

4 shows in 8 days. jealous? i thought so.

#1: echo and the bunnymen/glasvegas @ radio city music hall

i never thought i'd get the opportunity to see echo and the bunnymen, especially at radio city, ESPECIALLY backed by an orchestra (!). plus, i have a soft spot for the opening band.

definitely a cinderella evening.

#2: tegan and sara/city in colour

i'd been wanting to see tegan and sara for years, so this one was pretty satisfying. they are so adorable! made me wish i was a canadian lesbian too...

#3: pinback

different than i expected. i lost interest after they played the three songs i recognized, so i left in favor of some quiet conversation. sometimes you can't force it, ya know?

#4: ben nichols of lucero with chuck ragan and jesse malin

a rowdy, whiskey drinking show. and i'm in love with ben nichols. clearly.

i know, rough life.

oh, earth.

k: it's midnight here in transylvania, not exactly gothic, the hotel is across from fucking mcdonalds!

me: it's like a virus.

k: indeed.

the future is rooted in the past

today i will:

close the blinds in my blue room that has no light fixtures and
curl in a fetal position
underneath the woven blanket my dad bought for me in mexico to
replace the one that was stolen,

it looks just like it,

and i will listen to bon iver - for emma, forever ago as many times as it takes to feel like
i'm not drowning.

my new obsession

laura marling - cross your fingers/crawled out of the sea

nights like these tear me apart

she had a weakness for writers

and i was never that good at the words anyways.

my kitten is cuter than yours

october 6th

we were there, sitting at my table in the dark, half-talking-half-whispering in soft and soothing voices, untying the knots from ourselves. we were both dirty, the shower had broken days ago. it was better that way i think. it made me feel more real and alive, like daphne, growing bark and leaves and gradually becoming part of the earth. i was comfortable but couldn’t look at you, so i fixed my gaze on the wine. it looked thick and black in the dark. i pretended to watch the tannins slide down the curvature of the glass but i couldn't really see them. there wasn't enough light. every sound was being recorded so we could remember, even the silence, which to us seemed to be the most important. our silent soundtrack, simultaneously recording and playing, over and over.

i sensed something. what was happening? i was calm but uneasy, something felt different. you could sense it too. i rummaged through my head and tried to remember what i had learned in school, something in neuroscience or endocrinology...or philosophy? physics? something about the non-linear, dynamical systems of emotion and human response, cause and effect...maybe i didn't learn this in school, maybe in a dream? energy…no, frequencies...yes, that was it! the soundtrack, the dark, your chemical emissions, the tiny hairs on my arms that stood on end and wavered with the draft, the distance between us, the rhythm and echoes of our voices, the shape and structure of the room and the walls. like an orchestra, it was all coming together and something strange was happening. a force was being synthesized, i could feel it gathering and salivating, readying itself. but for what? i started visualizing all the elements as numbers and symbols, aligning them, mathematizing them. there was an equation...oh, what was it? i learned it once in that dream...

suddenly my body seized as the muscle and skin turned stone. now i could almost remember what it was capable of, this force…i held the numbers in my mind and calculated faster, i had to know. then the noise came, snaps, the hardened flesh was breaking. as the pieces of myself shifted and detached, i stopped equating and began trying to mentally will myself whole. it wasn't working, i was distracted, tobacco kisses. i couldn’t stop it now. the bones fragmented and disunified leaving my botched skeleton held together loosely by only the sinews and veins. you held me up and smiled, my marionette body draped over your arm. drunk wine started to leak from my skin at the cracks. it looked a little like blood, but i wasn't bleeding which surprised me; i thought falling apart would be a bit messier. i thought it would hurt. it didn't.

uno mas

my girls...



only love.

we broke the shower

calamity! the spout in the tub broke free from its base and was launched across the bathroom by the geyser that erupted from the broken pipes. water everywhere!! broken shower.

:(

so this morning, i filled a large tupperware bowl with a mixture of the scalding and glacial waters from their respective faucets in the bathroom sink, then dipped my head into it and washed my hair like a peasant girl. ashley went a different route, making use of a small cup to repeatedly douse her hair over the tub. it had to be done. we were gettin grimy.

do you feel alone when i'm in my head?

radio city

you held me in front of god, he stared right through us. he wore skulls on his bandana and for a minute we weren't sure if it was him. then you remembered the time he walked coolly across the ice with his spurs while everyone else was slipping and collapsing. he didn't even know the the ice was there. it must have been him.

then he was the cab driver, a drummer, your dusky brother from another life, possessing the power to change the color of the lights from red to green using only his eyes. suddenly, mine could do it too, but only during those moments when you were watching them. when you looked away, it was gone.

meet my new kitten!

franklin, the most adorable fluffmeister on the planet.

bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire

i am a rockstar

a recent history, and why i haven't posted in ages:

sep. 21st, morning: maine coast half marathon. i ran it, and looked pretty bad-ass doing it. 190th place.

sep. 22nd: morning flight to los angeles.

sep. 23rd & 24th: beej and i ran around l.a., basked on some beaches, snuggled, talked about books and embracing the universe. we played dichotomy. then we listened to some sweet bluegrass.

sep. 25th: greyhound to vegas. reunited with my montana girls. love and drinking.

small dresses and lots of eye make-up. later, v.i.p. table at the club with a bottle. ha. who woulda thought.

later, couldn't sleep. i fed mar chips and salsa because she was sick, somehow this made sense. then i talked to a brit at the hotel bar for hours about music and life while drinking black russians. crawled into bed next to mar at 6 a.m.

sep. 26th: v.i.p. poolside bed (yes bed) and private pool. comped everything.

hungover, the four of us regained ease around one another (dangerous). always been there, almost forgotten but so quickly resurfaced. we talked about love and sex. we frequently poked each others' boobs. we walked around naked. (this is not sexy don't get excited). we traded clothes and complimented one another and talked about times.

more love and dancing.

sep. 27th: started to feel the exhaustion. gypsy buggy ride to love because we couldn't catch a cab. smaller dresses. dark circles, more make-up. red bull. someone pooped on the floor in our bathroom, one of us, had to be, but no one could remember doing it. it may have been nutella. another v.i.p. table (i know, hard life), another bottle, nice germans, dancing. consensus that european men are better than american men (i already knew this, however). i lost $3 at the slots, the extent of my gambling.

sep. 28th: andrea left. jessica left. marilee left. then there was one. i walked around the strip alone. i rode the spiral escalator at ceasar's palace three times. i watched the bellagio fountain show which appropriately was choreographed to 'viva las vegas'. i took a picture of myself in front of it. i took pictures of the construction and the sky.

now: sitting at the vegas airport, luckily this terminal has wireless. waiting for my 10:15 p.m. flight.

sep. 29th (tomorrow): flight will arrive in boston at 9:16 a.m. cab home, straight to work. hopefully i won't be too late......


(pictures to come).

in the depths of the godsick blues

listen.

i love love acid tongue.

weekend adventure

today my lil sis and i went to the pond and fed cheetos to the swans.

mt girl

end of summer makes me miss montana. it would be nice to sit at the top hat with some people i knew in second grade. to sip on moose drool and let the cigarette smoke marinate my clothing. to hear the twang of bluegrass reverberate across the wood-paneled walls. to feel it on the bottoms of my feet.

good morning

while driving to work this morning, 'never there' by cake came on the radio. i turned up the volume, slid on the aviators and rocked out. yeah, cake gets a bad rap, whatever. i'll love them forever because i picked up a copy of fashion nugget in 7th grade and was suddenly the coolest kid on the block. that says a lot considering this was at the apex of my awkward phase. anyway, 'never there' is awesome. horns layered over a staccato bassline and some strategic vibraslappin' action...and are those maracas i hear in the background? or a cabasa? then there's john mccrea who doesn't really sing the vocals, he's a little too good for singing. he's into a drier, cockier delivery. smug syncopation. you tell me that you love me so, you tell me that you care, but when i need you, baby... come on, it rocks. admit it, you like it too.

i arrived at work and promptly checked my gmail to find that i'd won disorientation tickets in some fnx email contest i'd forgotten i had entered. sweet. i have this unique talent for winning things off the radio. just within the last year i've won tickets for ryan adams, devo (yes, devo), and tegan and sara. hey, there are definitely worse things to be good at!

so this disorientation tour is okay. just okay. two of the five bands are actually pretty terrible. but the kooks will be there, and boy do i love me some kooks! rogue wave will be good too. i'll leave before flogging molly to prevent my ears from bleeding, but the first half of the show should be worth the cross-city journey.

fuck me up, steal my records.

i wish i could go back to last night. i could've listened to ryan for days. months. the air, the beer, the music, the friends, everything. it was one of those occasions when you're just existing and perceiving and suddenly you get this feeling that life is actually okay. more than okay, maybe.

today i'm dealing with a pheromone crash. i was oozing my musk all over the place last night, i think i'm a little dried out. that's just what he does to me. i wonder why i fall in love with rockstars. couldn't i prefer a less-complicated type? like athletes. or investment bankers. i'm generalizing, but you get the point. instead, it has to be the emotionally-driven musician who gets all mola ram on me, thrusting his hand into my chest to grasp my thumping heart and yank it from my thorax. it really isn't healthy to be so easily conquered. honestly, all you need to do is grab an acoustic and stop shaving for a few days and sing all achy. bam. i'm yours, take me. throw my name into a song or two. sing about your chameleon eyes and how i used to tell you their color every day because sometimes you just didn't know. someone had to tell you, and i was looking at them the most. sing about how you miss me. people will listen and get sad because it'll grub up their own pain, but you would know and i would know they could never quite understand.

ryan, though. what a sweet life he leads. he plays his music and writes, travels around and sings to make girls swoon. mmmm. that would be nice i think.

his blog makes me love him more. it's sexy in the way that cigarettes are sexy.

i secretly hope ryan is one of those people who never showers. just once a week, maybe, or once every two weeks. i hope he gets a really distinctive odor that no one would ever mind because it's just his essence and it smells sort of like his music. i hope his guitar smells like him, too. i hope i'd be able to catch a whiff from the front row.

sunshininess

thanks to my masterful painting skillz, my kitchen is now the lovely shade of dandelion.

it really brings some vibrance to the room, don't you think?

guest blogger #1: sir william j. fleming

due to a recent lack of inspiration, i decided to let someone else pour their creative juices into my blog. i couldn't think of anyone in the world who has more of these juices than b.j., one of my dearest friends. so here ya go:

guest post #1:
Except that I do and I do

Shannon is a gem. Let's just get that right out there. She and I were at high school together and formed several organizations of note during our tenure including but not limited to H.U. Intl. and a non-union construction company focusing primarily on cotton-poly blend units. Tehe. I said "units."

Anyway, recently, I was all like "Yeah, motherf-er," when Shannon was all like "I want to start a blog." Then we started brainstorming blog names and I had some really great ones like RoboBlogfromtheFuture, and Shanimatron 10069. She, however, opted for idontlikeyoubutiloveyou.

And, I guess that's good. I'm much better at ignoring emotion than Shannon, so it makes sense that her blog would be a little more serious and heart string-snipping than mine (which doesn't technically exist (my blog not my heart. I have a heart. Shh.))

Which is sort of why I like this blog, sort of why I like the title especially, and a little bit why I'm guest-writing on it.

I don't like you but I love you is something, thankfully, we've never said to each other (see title). But the tension in it rings roundly and loudly to me.

Shannon (and me, sometimes) are pretty good examples of one of my favorite concepts of all time which is the romance of self destruction. Obviously sometimes this is more true for each of us than others, and certainly we're not the most self destructive kids out there, but it's a huge part of our life like the time warp on third street before we ate a giant bag of chocolate chips.

We constantly surround ourselves with fun things that are god awful for us. On at least a few occasions, these things have included each other. On paper, her friends (myself included) are easy to hate. I certainly hate many of her friends.

So, why don't I punch her in the face? Mostly because she prefers to be bitten. And, concomitantly, I've had my fair share of scratches that've drawn blood from her. But why haven't we destroyed each other?

Well, we might. And that's fine. Being around Shannon is like being spirited away for a threesome in a minivan. It looks like such a dirty, reprehensible idea at first blush, and sometimes it is. But, more often than not, you can't wait to feel damaged again.

-Beej.

aurora

last night i realized my apartment feels like home. i haven't felt this way in years.

field trip

on tuesday, i paid my first visit to the ICA. it was very very cool.

this was my favorite piece:

bourgeois's arching woman depicts either sexual ecstasy or excruciating pain. or maybe both. oppositional and symmetrical human response. i love this.

obama/phelps, 2008

come on, it's genius.

fresh produce

i have a crush on a clerk at the co-op grocery store down the street. i make eyes at him while purchasing my tofu and instant oatmeal. he’s dimpled and has puppy eyes that are softly wreathed in curly blonde lashes. he wears red chuck taylors. i bet he has comic book collection and listens to sunny day real estate.

once, he was stocking zucchinis and i reached to grab a nearby bundle of basil. his hand innocently grazed the skin of my wrist. he mumbled a quick apology and nervously tugged the ties of his apron. i giggled shyly. his cheeks pinkened and he scurried away, still carrying the box of zucchinis in which my fragile heart had fallen.

okay, i totally made that up.

he is pretty cute though. sadly, i doubt he’s a day over 19.

for the love of metric and margot

oh man, what a weekend.

on friday, the day of the metric concert, there was an accident. happily pedaling down centre st., i collided with a freshly opened car door. no time to think or stop, launched from my bike, airborne, over the door, skin and shoulder and helmet on the pavement. ambulance, emergency room, tetanus shot, x-rays, arrogant doctors, saline sloshed into my open wounds. in the end, nothing was broken (thank god). i walked away with my left arm in a sling and some gauze haphazardly taped to my thigh. limbs intact, nothing lost but a little pride.

here are some pictures!

despite their efforts, the gods failed to keep me from my love, emily. earlier in the week, after a heart attack inducing cancellation, the metric show was fatefully rescheduled for friday at midnight. even though i wasn’t released from the hospital until 6, i still had time to make the trip to new york and witness the brilliance that is metric. my friend tom (thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou!) drove me down to the show. i was in pain and still a little shaken up, but it was ridiculously awesome. i danced and sang all the words and ogled emily in her skin-tight, metallic onesie.

and the fun didn’t stop there.

saturday morning, we drove back to boston so i could make it to the margot and the nuclear so and so’s show at the middle east. they were SO so so great, better than i remembered. i even hung out with the trumpet player for a little while. he said this tour is a lot better than the last because his girlfriend had been cheating on him all throughout the last one. then he asked me for some pot. i didn’t have any.

they played talking in code during the encore, sent shivers down my spine.

as masochistic as this may sound, the pain from the wreck made the music even better. it got all the way into my bones.

metric and margot, i love you, black-and-blue and aching. digging ditches out of boredom. voice cracks like a piano.

nothing can keep me away.