scenes from a midwestern coffeeshop

I am surrounded by sound. Always. But truth be told, I'd rather be in a pretentious red room bumping M.I.A or some sort of sonic facsimile than im my own "home" where the white walls are rattling with the bass of some sort of regurgitated idea of "street".

It is friday night.

I have groceries. And movies. And a buzz from the wine and cigarettes.

It's okay, I walked.

In fact, my face is flushed and I'm tempted to remove my sweatshirt.

There are kids everywhere, they're everywhere and they look so young and I feel so old, and I wonder if I look as old as I feel. This ain't supposed to be a scene, it's a goddamn coffeeshop. I wonder if these kids know how good they've got it.

This photograph is proof, and this Sam Shepard book is cred.

My haircut doesn't suck enough to be here.

I like this M.I.A. song.

He looks too familar and too much my type for me to notice him.

its 10:40 and I don't know where my children are, let alone my boy.

I don't need to calm down.I've been too calm for too long.

Fuck it, this book isn't getting read. But I need to.

Savage Republic (hoarding emotional vicodin)

:

Can I tell you a story about how one time I completely lost my shit? I did, resulting in the most emo freakout of all time. Allow me to explain: first there was the finding of the girl that pretty much is responsible for the dissintergration of my last "meaningful relationship" on facebook. And what's worse is she's in my network and has not disabled ANYTHING in her minifeed. My friends tried to help. They told me she looks like a boy. That's a boldfaced lie, but you know, thanks anyway. And then there was the finding out that they're still together. And then there was the slamming of both my hands in my window. Followed by a day of carbo-loading, and another evening of wine followed by another one of beer and whiskey. I almost made another life altering fuck up of a decision, but decided that I'd better pass out in somebody else's bed and walk home alone in a miniskirt at 4 in the morning. Throw some cigarettes in the mix and you've got my week in a nutshell.

Playwrights are the new boys in bands. I went to to the Rich Orloff reading for class last night, and decided that on the whole, he is not an unattractive man. A little wrinkly, but you know what they say about wrinkles.....too much time in LA. I had an awkward conversation about wine with Steve Feffer.

Anyone wanna go to the Murder By Death Show in Chicago on saturday? I'll throw in for gas, seeing as Amy Grindhouse is starting to make even scarier noises when I brake.

I could be hungry.

Rent's due.

Is it sad that I could get back with Justin at this point? I've been thinking about it seriously. Maybe its because I'm lonely. Maybe it's because I haven't made a pros and cons list yet.

Can't. Stop. Yawning.

Also need to start formulating how I want my schedule to go next semester.

I got accepted for the journalism minor. Yay school! Does this mean I have to do something lame like write for the Western Herald? GOD, I hope not.

I wish I wasn't so emo.

I just realized how terrible people can be. We all know what a terrible person I am, what terrible people my exes are and the less than perfect momenets my friends have.

She is beautiful, but she don't mean a thing to me.

Sometimes fate is just a trainwreck of extraordinary coincidences piled up one on top of the other, on top of the other. A remix of encounters.

my secret. stop me if you think that you've heard this one before

Happy Birthday

I still love you.

I'd get almost get back together with Justin if it meant that I could just forget you already.

But it doesn't, so I can't, so I won't.

And you'll never know. You'll never see me again.

Happy birthday.

may it be the kindest you've ever known.

I kinda always knew you'd end up my ex-boyfriend

So I don't know what to do with or about my life. This is really turning into a rant and bitch forum about Tony and I don't want that. My remedy:

I've moved back to Kalamazoo, gotten an apartment in a slightly sketchy neighborhood, but my friends don't live far. There are trains but they don't bother me (much). There's an abandoned coffeehouse next door, but it looks like they're opening back up soon. I'm stealing internet from them to type this. I went to Flordia last weekend, and all I got was this lousy cold. I've been living on juice and chips and salsa. There are boys named Dan that find their way into my brain. One could be gay. my apartment is always 15 degrees hotter than what it really is outside.

There, now back to Tony.

I've been in touch with him, but the last I heard, he was in Chicago. I was pretty pissed about that (something about that being MY turf?). But due to some unintentional stalking, it turns out that he'll be in town next weekend to celebrate his birthday. As in Kalamazoo. neutral territory, right? Right? I've got two votes from my camp that say crash it. I've got one vote from me that says I should not. It would be officially be crossing over into his turf. I'm a shark and he's a jet and no amount halfstepshuffleslidestepstepkicks would be able to quell the awkwardness. you dig?

I'm tired of thinking about it so I'm ignoring it altogether, now.

Dear voice: please come back so I can sing showtunes and annoy my neighbors again.

Do you like Television?

I'm doing it again. I'm becoming what I project as a particular person's ideal girl, all in the mere hopes that it will get me someone who cares. Well to the best of my ability. I've always been me, don't get me wrong, but at the same time, I choose to...amplify certain traits. This time around I am me with a severe rock and roll complex. I drink hard, I talk hard, I talk all kinds of smack. I come out to shows. Spesifically, the band the boy plays guitar in. My accessories include a metal cigarette case always at capacity (with cloves), a whiskey sour, and a bored expresson. I essentally become the guy in that LCD Soundsystem song "Losing My Edge". I've heard of everything, if you dig it and I've never heard of it, it's "okay". I will rep what I love. It is all about spin. Control. Those two words. Spin. Spin. Spin.

And it's not that I'm a greep, it's just that I pay attention to what or who fascinates me. For example, I could not tell you a thing about the girl I met after helping my friend move. Well I could, but I'd have to spend a few moments thinking. On the other hand, I can recall with a certain degree of uncanny detail odd and bizarre bits of information. My acting teacher, for example: is married, has two kids aged 2 and 4, the 2 year old is special needs, he's 32, his wife is 33, her birthday is coming up, is 6'4, referenced Madonna within the first 30 minutes of class, has a panic disorder. Don't ask why I can remember that, but have difficulty with the formulas for finite math, physics, geometry, chemistry...

I am not a fake.

day tripping on the tussin

I was sick for the better part of last week, which more or less means sleeping. A lot. Well, for me anyway. I kept odd hours, was feverish and had dreams that were interrupted by violent turbucular coughing fits. These fever dreams were among the weirdest I've had in awhile (but I don't consider the dreams where people are trying to kill me weird anymore, so keep in mind that weirdness is relative, ok?). I can't recall most of them, but the one that has stayed with me after the fever broke was the one about Tony. Yeah (crass version). Tony. The exact details are hazy, but the gist of the dream is as follows: I check my emails (I have like 4) , including the one I used to correspond with Tony. I don't really use it for much else, so when I saw that I had one new message, I was baffled, but essentially chalked it up to spam or yahoo! plugging their "new" service. But no, it actually is from Tony, and my brain replicates the exact same sense of anxiety I would have had had this not been a dream. The email was simple, it said something to the effect of "I miss you too. Friends?" I was all excited and then I woke up.

Its not really a big deal. People dream about talking to other people who have phased out of their lives all the time. Not me. I hardly ever dream about people I know/heard of. I flat out don't dream about boys I like, have liked, or have dated. I'm not digging for S.S. Significance, am I?

A Sign's a sign right?

Fuck all, if I can't speak the language though.

...and then there's Andy. He'll be explained another night.

Recreational Paranoia

I'll look into actual communication with Tony once I reach letter five. I've written three in the last month, and with every line I write, I decide anything is better than staying in my head. I'm no longer hurting, but a part of me can't let go. A part of me refuses to believe that this is the way things are going to end between us. Isn't that the most disgusting cliche you've ever heard me spew? I DON'T SPEW CLICHES. The part that won't let go is small enough that I can forget that I feel this way for most of the day, but strong enough to make me think that he is potentially my soulmate. Clerks II didn't help either.

Maybe if I say it here, I can go back to being in denial about it: I love him. It scares me how much I need him, to think about him. But on the other hand, the more times I admit it, the more I indulge in the following process:

1. I admit to still having strong feelings for him, for all sakes and purposes, love him.
2. I then proceed to attempt to get the thought out of my head as fast as possible. Usually this involves convincing myself that I have herpes and/or may be infertile. This may or may not be true.
3. Repeat stage one.
4. Proceed to tell myself that the more I admit to what may or may not be my true feelings, the more my brain will believe it. (It's science: I'm not 100% sure on the spesifics, but the more you do something, the less likely you are to forget it...synapses firing and all that.)
5. Proceed to facilitate the forgetting/distracting process by reading and on occasion masturbating.
6. Sleep.

Usually this takes place in between crawling into bed and going to sleep. It takes about an hour, maybe two if I write, less if I'm too tired to pine.

I keep thinking that all it takes is for me to fess up to feeling something. But...what if it doesn't?

12345 you owe me a coke!

The weekend that I was working for:

Friday was class. I have class on friday night. I am more than okay with that. It seems countertheoretical to the subject matter (History of Rock and Roll) but I get out at 9 which is just in time to make the party. My teacher is a bit of a soccer mom and she mostly knows her shit. Emphasis on mostly. The cute boy quota for a friday night class is suprisingly high. People seem cool. I was going to see Volver after class, but parking was mad crazy lame so I ended up driving around and kind of getting almost lost. I was like yeah whatever.

Saturday was the utter horror known as the Auto Show. It's always a big deal and I never understood why. I'd never been. So I went to meet up with Katy + her bf. Traffic on the expressway wasn't bad at all (especially for a friday night), but the local traffic was a BEAST and a HALF. It might have helped if I hadn't missed my turn and people from Ohio knew how to drive. And whose genius idea was it to schedule a hockey game on the same night the Auto Show opens to the public??! Oh big flaming piles of DEATH on them. It took me four times longer than I should have to get back to the expressway when I was leaving. But okay back to the actual auto show. I didn't take the camera or any pictures. I can only look at cars for so long before they all start to look the same...all shiny and shit. The sports cars all look like tic tacs and my head still hurts from all the terrible electronic music (save the Mini cooper area.). It's like they want you to forget where you actually are and that by some odd twist of magical fate you have landed in a commercial (hence the bright lights and "hot chicks"). Some boys were okay looking. I got kind of depressed when Katy's other friends (an engaged couple) showed up and I became the fifth wheel. That will also make a room full of shiny objects boring. I expected at least a bar so I can at least be hammered in a room of shiny objects. But, no such luck on the bar. I was going to go out to eat after but the local traffic as I stated before, was lame so I just went home.

Sunday (today): There is real food in the house again. Yay.

I'm lonely but I ain't that lonely yet. I'm getting there though.

Been writing a lot lately, some really terrible poetry but I'll be letting you be the judge of that later. I've been having dreams lately. Two are too embarassing to repost here but one was the guy from that Dirty Jobs show on the discovery channel. That's how I know I've reached hardcore geek status.

And...oh, I changed my plugs. 10s are in my ears now. I'm excited to pick up some 8s and 6s. The scabs fell off my tattoo and it itches way less. I always like modifying when things end.

I love tv on the internet. (I smell indie rock cover band!)