The lights are going to go out on Broadway, that's the only explanation.

Just when I thought I had successfully exited the fucking outer limits (or twilight zone), last night puts the icing on the fucking weird cake.

After a highly uncharacteristic late night Wendy's run, I go to meet people at Roadhouse. I was already in a pissy mood due to things that happen when you're not pregnant, the fact that it seemed like I was invited purely by accident (probable), and from the time I got there, it seemed like nobody wanted me there (equally irrational and logical, but a conclusion that was arrived at nonetheless). So I get home at like 2 am, and I'm not tired at all. Maybe I was still hyped up from the night before. So I kind of lay in bed and just watch TV. Jill is in her bed as well and we thought we were both going to call it a night. But then the following vocal dialogue takes place:

Jill: Tell me why Kenny just messaged me
Me: Whaaaat? [runs in Jill's room. Lo and behold, he has sent a message that simply says "Love you"] Let me see what happens when I get on facebook.

a few minutes pass, and then via facebook chat, the following exchange occurs (with chunks eaten by facebook for who knows what reason):

Deleted by facebook, but he opens with "nope". Understandable confusion ensues. It's 3 am. But then...

Ken: I know you're in love with me...but you're in New Mexico now...or some shit...so it's just not in the cars

(I should preface this with the fact that I'm drunk...so don't take me that seriously)

but seriously...you should just accept certain undeniable consequences

3:10am me:okaaaayyyyyy

will do?

3:10am Ken: haha

sorry

I know it's still mid-afternoon where you are, so this probably seems awkward

3:11am me:I'm in kalamzoo

its 3 am and this is just the icing on the weirdest fucking cake

3:12am Ken: oh well...so it's your fault for being up at four thirty

weird cake, though, eh?

3:13am me: lol

yeah

btw where did new mexico come from?

3:14am Ken: I thought you were moving southwest

3:14am me: noooo

3:14am Ken: and figured it was McCain country, for some reason

3:15am me:I helped Theresa move to AZ...

lol

3:15am Ken: haha..thought you were moving there too

3:16am me: nooooope

lol

3:16am Ken: which means I can still convince you to move to Chi-town

!!!

3:16am me:lol

3:16am Ken: done and done

3:16am me: what happend to certian undeniable consequences?

[another brief chunk that facebook doesn't think should exist]

[I assume he apologizes again]

me:its cool

3:29am Ken:(I'll shut up now)

3:29am me: you're fine

shut up only if you want to

3:30am Ken: haha

I

er

I'll keep hitting on you if it's not that creepy

3:31am me: what girl minds getting hit on by the notorious Kenny W?

lol

3:31am Ken: haha

most of them

3:32am me: that's sad

mostly for them

3:32am Ken: :P

that's what I always say

3:32am me:lol

3:34am Ken: still feel like an ass for never...pursuing you

(come on #1)

3:34am me: there's no need to feel like an ass

3:34am Ken: that's what I do, though

3:35am me: feel like an ass for no apparent reason?

3:35am Ken: more or less

3:36am me: we all have our quirks...

3:37am Ken: I'm sorry I missed you last time you were in Chicago

chalk that up to (thankfully now ex) girlfriends

3:37am me:lol

crazy broads?

3:38am Ken: yup

bad mistakes all around

3:39am me: it happens

3:40am Ken: yup

well...I'm gonna go watch Californication

3:41am me: okay

have fun

3:42am Ken: and I promise that I'll hit on you on a later date

you're just too much woman for one poor drunk bastard at the moment

(figuratively...not literally...because that would be a really weird thing to say otherwise)

3:44am me: lol

3:44am Ken: although it's a weird thing already

shit

I'm just going to stop talking now

3:45am me:ok I should probably sleep now anyway

lol

3:46am Ken: hehe

alrighty

I'll hit on you later

er

talk to you later

or both...whatever comes first

3:46am me:lol

3:47am Ken: someday...

3:49am Ken:you will be mine...

3:57am Ken: heh...I'm gonna shut up now

goodnight

3:57am me:lol

you said that once before

lol

night

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Okay, so I know I would never leave Matt for Kenny (or at the very least 97% sure I wouldn't), but this is one of those unattainable one that got away kinds of things that bugs the fuck out of me. I never had a problem rejecting the other guys because there were no feelings to really speak of. It seems like once i settle down, this always happens. Like either he's seeing someone, or I am, and its just frustrating to play the what if game.

...not that I have any need to. I love Matt, and if he proposed somewhere down the line, I would undoubtedly say yes. But is it so wrong to kind of flip out over a longstanding college crush telling me everything I wanted to hear a year ago?

probably. I mean, its only been ten months since I started dating Matt (14 if you count the last time we dated), vs a fluctuating obsession of 4, 5ish years? That just makes me human right? And not to mention that whole conversation loses some of its weight when he chatted up at least two others in the same time frame (3-4 am).

I'm being weird and making far too much of it.

Sorry my brain vomited.

cramps. black eye (not mine). random people sleeping on my futon. It's like my unofficial welcome back party.

High five: I'm not preggo

fml: I'm fucking up at work already. (missed 2 class visits.)

Um, this is mostly so I don't forget what the fuck went on last night.

Around 8:15, my friend Stephanie calls me to hang out and get adult bevvys. She says she's buying. I have never had a problem with this. I drive to her place and we walk over to Harvey's. We're walking when she gets a call from her friend Brent. She invites him to join us. Brent brings Zack, who has been putting things in Stephanie, and has been slightly toolish. We let him off the hook for personal reasons. Its the four of us boozin, have a few laughs. Me and Brent are really hitting it off. Really hitting it off. Like if i were single and I played my cards a little differently, I could have totally gotten some. Zack and Stephanie take off, but Brent and I continue to bullshit into the night. He offers to walk me home, er, to my car, which I was going to ask him to do anyway. A block and a half to go, if that, we see people sitting on the porch. We talk to them and we are nice. They are nice. They share their beer with Brent. One neglected detail: Brent likes to talk shit. A lot. He thinks its funny when people are mad. I blame the fact that he is 5'5, 5'6 on a good day. The next thing I know, this kid who was passed out on the porch leaps up, and just starts roughing him up a little. No big thing I think he can hold his own, so I wait to see if he needs assistance. When Brent ends up on a car, I go over with one of the other girls to break it up. Its too late, the damage has been done. Brent is bleeding from the head. It looks a lot worse than it really is, but he's having issues remembering what happened five minutes ago. He's definitely not concussed, just drunk. We then proceed to go 1.5 blocks in 1.5 hours. It takes that long to make amends with the porch people, get Brent cleaned up and WALK A BLOCK AND A FUCKING HALF. People keep talking and I just want to go to bed. We get to my car, and I try to take him back to where he's staying (with Zack, I think). Epic fail. He can't remember and neither can I. I'm not interrupting Zack and Stephanie, regardless of what they may or may not be doing. Brent says that everybody's sleeping and he wouldn't be able to get in anyway, so i take his tiny ass home with me. Nothing happens, I just set him up on the futon with water and blankets. I proceed to write Jill a don't freak the fuck out about the boy that magically appeared in our living room note and try to go to bed. its 3:30, maybe 4 at this point. I have to be in to work by 9. At 8:30, I'm ready to go, so I get Brent up. I shepherd him to my car and drop him off at Academy and Westenege. That was my night.

I shit you not.

It's better if you hear me tell it, all Moth Podcast style.

And if this don't work, I'm doing to church....

It's freakout time again, but I'm totally going to blame this on the move and the crash diets.

I have thirty dollars to see me through Roadhouse tonight and whatever else Matt wants when he gets in on friday.

It looks like I won't get paid until saturday because I forgot to do my direct deposit form, and they mail the checks out. It's only a one week check, but I could stay stocked in smokes and tortilla chips and salsa. Fml, kinda.

I miss my cat.

I miss summer.

I miss my boyfriend, even though I see him in three days and I just saw him two weeks ago.

Less than an official week in town, and I'm already bored. The new people at work are cool but weird, and I am not sure if a semester without strangulation can happen.

I still don't work with Clara. Thank God for even the smallest of blessings, I suppose.

Living the dream.
Living the dream!
Living the dream?

Seems to be the theme of today.

Its still cold in here, like I remember.

I should clean my room.

I should do a lot of things.

There is a huge spider on the window.

It's a cold day down here in hell, and its a long way up there to heaven...

but its okay, 'cause we're singing with the angels.

My unofficial Detroit birthday celebration begins this evening. Its mostly drinking and some dancing in a pretty dress.

...and I'm nervous. No idea as to why, but I'm wake up while its still dark out and fruitlessly attempt to sleep some more nervous.

Lord only knows why, but I have an idea.

I think its because I'm paranoid, but really all of this is my own doing. Matt's going to be in town, so of course he's coming out. I invited Heather (his ex that I'm friends with) and her bf too. Its been like 3, maybe 4 years since they've seen each other, and they promised to play nice, but in the back of my head, my low self esteem voice is all loud and obnoxious. She (only a girl could be this irrational and mean, so of course this voice is female) brings up the hypothetical scenario of what if he sees her and falls in love with her all over again? And then let's multiply this feeling of dread by self loathing and overall fatness for cheating on my diet yesterday, and I guess I figured out why I couldn't sleep.

Holy run ons batman.

I also had cramps this morning, and I hope they are PMS cramps and not bleeding from the crotch in the next 48 hours cramps.

but in other news, I have music obsessions. My latest audio loves:

1. "Lovegame" - Lady Gaga
2. "Paparazzi" - Lady Gaga
3. "Carby" - Discovery (f/ Ezra Konig from Vampire Weekend)
4. "If U Seek Amy" - Britney Spears
5. "I Wish I Knew Natalie Portman" - K-OS
6. "Many Moons" - Janelle Monae
7. "You're a jerk" - New Boyz
8. "Its OK, But Just This Once" - Gym Class Heroes
9. "Harder Better Faster Stonger (Neptunes Remix)" - Daft Punk
10. "Make Her Say" (aka "I Poke Her Face") - Kid Cudi, Kanye West, Common
11. "D.O.A. (Death of Auto-tune)" - Jay-Z
12. "Seven Nation Army" - Nostalgia 77
13. "Who's That Girl?"/"Qui Est Cette Fille?" - Robyn/Yelle
14. "Great DJ" (Calvin Harris remix) - The Ting Tings
15. "The Resolution" - Jack's Mannequin

Ask me about the kitchen-1990s link.

Maybe its the lack of food that makes me crazy.

in case you missed it because I didn't say it

I have my job at KVCC back. I'm moving back to the 'zoo.

God help us all. Even me.

I didn't die. Nobody died.

Or at least not on my behalf.

I did the drive to Arizona thing. It was mostly fun. Completely ridiculous (in every conceivable definition), and totally educational. I still have pictures to post.

I'm not delivering the details because I wrote them in a notebook, and that's what its all about. It was a giant creative crap, which is to say that I am no longer creatively constipated. Now its more of a matter of eating less creative cheese.

Jesus Christ, that was a disgusting metaphor.

I'm updating from Matt's computer at his apartment. He works today. Nobody's calling me back, so I'm just sitting here until something better comes along or until 8, whichever comes first.

Sean Connery is Shatnering "In My Life" by The Beatles. I am loving it.

It took me 40ish minutes to condition my hair. Part of me is excited the perm is growing out exponentially, but part of me shakes my fist at it.

My self esteem is on a roller coaster. Yesterday's caloric intake: ~5 (+/- 2 error) cigarettes, california roll, a glass of vodka cranberry, 2 crab rangoons, ~10 cheez-its. Today, as of 2:01 pm CDT: 1 cigarette, 2 pieces of orbit gum. I see what the anorexics have going. its an effective program. This entire week has has been an exercise in calorie removal or reduction. It's been at least three days since i had any proper bread.

Its not so bad being crazy. My notions are not entirely misguided.

Saw The Wackness. Most of it anyway. I love it.

I think that's all I'm capable of for now.

Altering my brain chemisrtry with miracle whip and cayenne pepper

I'm helping Theresa drive to Arizona. The flights are booked. The notes will be booked. I get to see Adam in NC, and i get to freak all my Arkansas family out with my tat and piercings. Maybe I will find some 2 gauges for my ears before I go, or while on the road. Photos will be taken, notes will committed to paper.

Laundry part one is done. Packing needs to happen. I even cleaned out my car, ditching the last evidence of tobacco use. I found an empty booze container, which would have gone swimmingly if discovered while I was gone. Or if I was pulled over. Containers have been appropriately disposed of.

Still not preggo. High five!

Finished a book without pictures on every page! Now its back to those.

Things that will be read before my birthday:

1. Ultimate Zombie Survival Handbook - Max Brooks
2. V For Vendetta
3. Anything else I have on loan from Matt.
4. The Girl With Curious Hair - David Foster Wallace (to be purchased/borrowed from the library)

I'm extending my US tour. Originally, the final gig was July 29 (30), as I return to Detroit. July 31 I'm taking off for Chicago, then Kalamazoo. I return August 4. After that, I will have to learn to cool my jets. But that's the problem with wanderlust: the more you feed it, the more it grows.

When I want to creep myself out, I think about the fact that I've been with Matt for 8 months. EIGHT. That's almost a baby. That's 1.3333333333333333 seasons shy of a year. When the big 1-2 rolls around, you might find me passed out on the couch.

I've got to get out of here. I'm going to ask for my old job back and see if I can pick up another part time. This living at home shit is not working. I'm getting fat (from not walking anywhere), bored (from having a grand total of 3 friends in the area)and depressed (from living at home and the previously discussed reasons) all the time. I'm too far from most of the things that mean anything to me. I'll try applying for grants and grad school, because I want to be as unemployable as possible.

I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told...

I may have two side view mirror by the time August rolls around. Hells yes.

Commands to a Whore Headed West.

In other words, westward ho!

*silence*

Thank you, thank you, don't forget to tip your waitress.

I've been trying to write, but I feel mentally constipated. The fact that its summer and I would much rather drive, and drink and eat and be merry and read and play with friends, lovers, and fire doesn't help anything.

I am still jobless, but I have resolved to head back west, a couple hours at a time. I am the last rat on the sinking ship known as the Detroit Job Market. Abandon ship!I can swim. Its already July, and I am seriously considering asking for my old job back. I can move back in with Jill, I'm pretty sure and that will keep me safe until December, if not beyond. I can work at KVCC and find a drinking job. Then onward to Chicago, which will become Austin.

I'm pretty bad at math, but 2.5 is less than 5. And 0 is less than the two of them put together. I don't like being far from friends. And boyfriends. And porches that are good for drinking.

Sometimes I worry that boyfriend drinks too much.

Sometimes I worry that I'm a horrible person.

I love my boyfriend's family.

I've been waiting for this moment all my life, but its not quite right

Last night I had a dream. What I remember now is fuzzy. I remember the main ideas though. Okay, main idea. I'm standing at the corner closest to my house, with my mom. My mom is talking to the neighbors while I scream at people who don't stop at stop signs. Like full blown Tourette's yelling, screaming, swears. I made up a few good ones, but I can't remember them now. My voice was getting all hoarse and chipmunky and a few people laughed, including a douchebag who did up and down finger point gun as he drove away. Don't ask me how he did it. I yelled some more, and my mom got mad at me for saying "goddamn".

At the moment I'm listening to Shawn Mullins sing "Wake Me Up (Before You Go Go)".

Matt keeps lending me books faster than I can read them. No, really. My queue:

Sin in the Second City - Karen Abbott
The Zombie Survival Guide - Max Brooks
V For Vendetta - Alan Moore/David Lloyd
book that I can't remember the title or author. I think its a memoir.
books #2 and 3 in the Fables Series by Bill Willingham

I also am re-reading Jpod by Douglas Coupland.

Had a job and then I quit. Might take a gig in Ann Arbor with clean water people.

Maybe it was the kind of day the last couple days had been, but I came to the realization that I hate the suburbs, and most of the people that they produce. This is a sweeping generalization. A lot of my favorite people are from these obnoxious sprawling lands. Or maybe its just Detroit's suburbs that bother me. In particular, the eastern ones. Everything's so far apart. Everyone just looks stupid. I just found the whole area obnoxious with its dog-friendly stores, orange skin, and teenagers listening to country. I was hanging out with a friend yesterday, driving all over the landscape covered in bright, pale gray clouds. Maybe it was the friend. She was rubbing me the wrong way yesterday. Maybe it was the fact that I spent most of my time in the north or west parts of town: Royal Oak/Ferndale, Farmington (Hills), Novi, Southfield. Maybe its because I have devoted most of my legal adult life in pursuit of the west. Maybe its because I still pursue the west.

I need an oil change.

plea from a cat named capitalism

I got a job. That's a lie. I got a place to go to for 8 hours a day with no windows (except in the bathroom), where I sit and wait for people to call. In the meantime I have a phone book where I dial a lot of "wrong numbers" or disconnected ones. I was always aware of the economic situation in Michigan, but it didn't hit me until I found out firsthand how many businesses have gone belly up since the publication of the yellow pages in feb 2009.

What I do: sales for a fledgling internet radio station. Strictly commission. Strictly suckage. I can't even close my eyes and pretend its an internship.

I mentally quit yesterday. I'm pretty sure I'm physically quitting today. I need more return on my investment. They're in Ferndale, right next to the WAB (Woodward avenue Brewery). I should have known better. I have to fight the urge to get drunk at lunch on a daily basis. I have to pay $4.25 a day in quarters for parking. I am 8 soon to be 12 dollars in the hole. $12 is close to 3/4 of a tank of gas for me (thank you very much Saturn). I could have gone to Kalamazoo on what I paid to sit still. I need more security than that. I guess its back to the mall. And Monster. And Craigslist. And standing by traffic lights by the expressway with my sign that says in glitter: will work for money.

When I write it all out like that, it seems like a no brainer that i should quit.

Maybe I can get my mom to sponsor my next reading excursion after I finish these 4 other books I've got going right now, courtesy of Le Boyfriend. I have an overwhelming urge to read Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney

Will the Postal Service ever put out a new CD?

fml.

Doing a little D.A.N.C.E.

Still not preggo. I was scared for a minute because I was closing in on 3 months with no word from uterus-land. One month was stress and the other was...who knows weight loss/gain from the smoking and the quitting, maybe? I should just get on the pill and save myself from this monthly anguish, but something's stopping me. Sheer laziness, probably.

I'm not too lazy to make a compilation of summer jams though.

1. "I Got You Dancing" - Lady Sovereign
2. " D.A.N.C.E." - Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.
3. "Cappuccino" - The Knux
4. "Day N Nite" - Kid Cudi
5. "Sex On Fire" - Kings of Leon
6. "If I Ever Feel Better" - Phoenix
7. "Come On and Get It (Up in Dem Guts)" - Zach Galifinakis f/ Fiona Apple
8. "Bitches Ain't Shit" - Ben Folds
9. "American Boy" - Estelle
10. "D.A.N.C.E." - Justice
11. "Fame < Infamy" - Fall Out Boy
12. "Why Must You Always Dress in Black" - Ben harper and Relentless 7
13. "Show Me Love" - Robyn
14. "Bang on A Milli" - Team 9
15. "Summer Never Ends"- Har Mar Superstar and Northern State
16. "If U Seek Amy" - Britney Spears

that's enough to get us started, yes?

This is going to be a brilliant summer. I can feel it.

the number of lines on my hands is directly proportionate to the number of directions my life could take.

I'm listening to Spoon. At work. Drinking pretty gross tea. It's pomegranate green tea, whose flavor perhaps does not lend itself to deliciousness when served cold or lukewarm. I need a spoon to eat yogurt.

It will cost $300 to repair the brakes I'm driving to Chicago on. It's the rear brakes, don't worry.

Theresa gave me really awesome art paper. Perhaps I will paint my resume on it with watercolor paints.

I think I'll miss Kalamazoo when I go. nay, I know. I like the option of walking places. Woodward Avenue Brewery, meet your newest regular.

I still don't have a job lined up.

My dreams are haunted with open roads. Alton, Memphis, Philadelphia, DC, Truth or Consequences, Yuma, Joshua Tree.

I STILL don't have a job lined up.

The amount of patience I have for the people who come in to work is directly proportionate to the amount of time I have in Kalamazoo.I'm reluctant to leave.

I don't think I'm as fat as I was. Smoking: the one thing I can do right.

Apologies for the personal pronoun abuse.

this modern love

I love the way my bed smells. It smells like Matt and dryer sheets. If I could capture that smell in a bottle, it would be great. I could just spray it whenever I miss him. It's kind of a catch 22 though, because while I could just conjure a facsimile of his presence almost instantly, it would still occur to me that he's not there and I'm just pretending.

For the first time in a long time, (long time = ~4ish weeks) I feel okay. I'm not worried/anxious or stressed. I'm mellow for non-chemical reasons. Business plan's not bugging me, I'm not worried about being fat any more than normal now, and Matt has made it apparent that I'm not going to be alone for awhile.

In the words of The Eels, everything's going to be cool this Christmas.

Ask me if I started packing for an early May moveout.

There is hummus in my fridge. It whispers to me from across town.

Let's look for jobs today.

Now playing: "Fa-Fa-Fa" - Datarock

the tension and the spark.

More secrets:

I am not mad about the snow. On the contrary, it's actually gorgeous. I wish I had time to take pictures this morning, it really is soooooo pretty. Besides, it is not that cold out, which kind of adds to the not minding ~2-3 inches of actual cold, wet snow in April.

Michigan weather: the meteorological April fool's joke.

This morning seems even more appropriate for soup and trip hop than friday afternoon. I needed a lot of things on friday.

Freakout update: no longer ticked about the AWOL boyfriend, and have officially moved on to the future. In about 5 weeks, I will be staring down the barrel of a six-month old relationship. Excuse me while I don't know what the fuck to do with that. brb.

That is why God gave me Tricky.

A conversation with my mom yesterday (via phone):

mom: did you go to church today?
me: no
mom: did you think about it?
me: yeah.

I'm leaving out the parts after because its funnier this way.

I bought a lot of groceries yesterday. I'm so stoked.

There is still pasta salad that needs making.

when I think of heaven, deliver me in a black winged bird

I get anxious, and I abuse whatever I can get my hands on.

Abuses in the last seven days (in no particular order):

1. Coffee (panera. hazelnut.)
2. Cigarettes (cloves. 2-3 a day.)
3. Hydroxyzine (possibly the only word I will ever get to type with xyz in it. For those who don't know, its my prescription for that itchy skin thing I had. Its primarily given as an antihistamine, but it is also used to treat mild anxiety. It helps on two fronts: a) I feel like everything is gonna be cool this Christmas, and b) it keeps the post nasal drip at bay, which has come back with a rampant vengeance ever since I decided smoking is cool again )
4. the internet (I wholeheartedly throw myself into the not for profit industry of nerdlicious distraction.)
5. my friends ( I feel I talk about myself and my problems way too much)
6. my job (I am no longer little miss nice tutor. I am just this side of "who pissed in her cheerios?" bitchy when I work)
7. the music of Fall Out Boy (I've been feeling just that bummed and self-indulgent lately.)

Have not heard from Matt since Sunday.

me < thrilled. I think this may be the beginning of our first fight. I wouldn't be so upset if we lived in the same state, or even the same time zone. We don't, therefore keeping in touch is important. I am pretty sure I'm not talking to him at the moment, which is pretty fucking childish, but that's the only way I can articulate things right now. It's really hard to do though.

Jesus, my communication skills suck.

I'm thinking of getting a tumblr account. I'd take more pictures then.

Super happy funtime now!

1.

2. I'm turning into a type nerd. Maybe I should have pursued graphic design or visual communications.

3. six words about a song, yo

4. scrabble, son

Can't Tell Me Nothin

Secret time:

I started smoking again. I'm doing my best to keep that ish on the stealth, but I'm not trying very hard either. I've just been having crazy cravings lately, even though there's no real trigger. If its any consolation, they're cloves. The Djarum Blacks I will always love, which are actually worse for you, but sometimes, I just have to.

Okay, I lied. Twice. Lie #1: (from the post immediately prior to this)I will not discuss sex today. I know I said I would, but I have no real profound thoughts on the subject at the moment. Lie #2: I think I know the trigger to my great American nicotine comeback. I looked at my naked body in the mirror, and decided I am getting too fat for my own good. So its not that I am feeding an addiction per se, but fulfilling a dietary need.

Smoking also keeps the crazy at bay. The crazy is a relatively recent development, and may be at least a partial case of PMS. The anniversary of my first formal dumping was this week. Matt and I are on approximately the same timetable we were on the first time we dated. Almost to the point of deja vu. So I'm anxious like whoa, waiting for that text/im/phone call that ultimately says I'm always wrong about everything ever, and no, I'm not good enough. It's been about 36 hours since I heard from him, and I just keep fearing the worst. Like soap opera coma. Okay, maybe not a coma, but maybe a coma. I can't believe I've turned into one of those girlfriends. In all likelihood, homeslice is just busy. Or tired. Or some combination. Or maybe his phone broke. There are a multitude of reasons that are more likely than the ones in my head. But the scenarios in my head are no less valid.

I would like to smoke now, please and thank you.

maybe I'll try my hand at writing serials. I'm addicted.

I'm going to a donkey show tonight. I'm wearing heels.

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

I bought candles yesterday. My room smells like Pier 1. I like it.

Visiting Chicago was a gas. I met a puppy. Well, Matt's puppy. Her name is Ruby, and all I can think of whenever they call her is the Kaiser Cheifs song. I think they named her after the kaiser Cheifs song. I can't be 100% certain though. She's a sweet thing, and seems to like me. She picks up on my chill vibes, and likes to cuddle. It's kind of funny how dogs can be smart and stupid all at the same time.

I decided I couldn't live with someone I'm dating. I know I will have to get over that shit when I get married, but as it stands right now, I like having my space. Maybe that's why long distance relationships aren't such a big problem for me. I like having an escape hatch. It also makes me appreciate the time I spend with that person so much more, because we're not bickering about actual stupid shit. (not to be confused with kind of stupid shit, like how tall Macaulay Culkin is)

I've never lived in the same city as someone I've dated before. Okay, that's a lie, I did once, and it was a disaster. I was in high school, and the relationship was the byproduct of a blind date. It lasted two weeks, and culminated with my dumping him on the night of his prom. I want to say it was in the limo, in front of White Castle. That may be dramatic embellishment on my part though, even though I can't say for sure. He wouldn't give me my space. But, to be fair to him, I never said give me some space. But to be fair to me, I was 17 and didn't know what I was doing or how to articulate my feelings. So it doesn't count right?

I still want a (more or less) traditional wedding. It hasn't come up lately, so I can't really gauge my progress.

Damn being a girl is hard work.

...it feels good to be a gangster.

Coming soon: more thoughts on sex.

Sing me something soft, sad and delicate

I'm back from Mississippi, and I am proud to say nobody died.

I also got to see Memphis the hard way. On Saturday, we missed our train out of MS, which I had nothing to do with. (I realize it's catty, petty, and childish to say that, but its true.) I blame the fatty, fried and relatively instantaneous food pit stop. As we saw the train pull away, we plan to head it off at the next stop. Three hours, one daylight savings related freakout, one pill, one massive nicotine, several involuntary face twitches on the right side of my face, and one state line later, I am gazing at the lights of downtown Memphis, Tennessee through a train window, sipping a delicious vodka tonic.

I decided I'd like to go back to TN under different circumstances. I'd like to see what Paul Simon saw in Graceland. I want to take in downtown Memphis from outside the car.

In other news, I'm manning the turntables once again. I know it will be a beautiful reunion. I can't hardly wait.

This just in: four months later, we're talking forever.

From him, 2:46 AM: so yeah it'd be ever so lovely to be with you for as long as you'll have me

I can't help but think about sex. Not just in the horny early 20s way, but in the sexual satisfaction psychology sector too. If one were to enjoy being restrained or even knocked around, I'm curious as to what it would implicate about their inner issues, why that would trigger pleasure for them. Part of me has to learn that not everything has a motive. 98% of things do, though. This is why anarchy does not agree with me.

I want to be disinherited from my shyness that is criminally vulgar.

Furthermore, I need to start making peace with the fact that I want to start collecting MA and MFA degrees. I can think of three that I want already, but I have a phobia of the word thesis.

Haze of Love

Jesus Christ. I think I got spoiled at work. I think its the PMS, but the temper and the attitude I have to actively work to check lately. Lady came in today wanting to know what her assignment was. I gritted my teeth, and hoped she thought it was a smile. She lumbered off to ask her teacher what she was supposed to be doing (who'da thunk that the TEACHER would know what she needs to do?)She came back. She's supposed to do 4-5 pages on "a debatable topic". Obviously, this will require research with the aid of a computer. Did I mention she's COMPLETELY FUCKING COMPUTER ILLITERATE? Like, I had to show her how to log in, how to get to the internet, where to type the web address, why she couldn't click on the sponsored links on Google...this paper's due Friday. She, of course, is a one finger hunt and pecker. She should have started typing this paper last Tuesday.

I officially advocate the fuck out of placement tests for anything lower than master's level courses.

But other than that, my life has been lovely. I like Barbies and crossword puzzles and tea and blankets and CSI and America's Next Top Model in marathon form (like there is any other!).

I dyed my hair with the idea that eventually it will lighten, redden and do its thing. I think I'm going back to braids.

I need to write more.

I need to finish The Watchmen.

Also, I still have no idea what to give up for lent. ideally something to make me thin. Maybe I will give up not smoking.

There you are, wild and free

So, I (kinda) put myself out of my misery and took a pregnancy test. Good news: I dropped clean on that shit.

Downside: I still have this mystery rash on my torso mostly, and it itches sometimes, but things didn't start itching until this week. There's a kind of rough layer of skin on my lips too. My hands are starting to look weird too. My skin on my face is not looking the way it usually does, and I feel like I just look toxic overall. I also might have a UTI. Great. I see the doctor on Saturday. I can just see it now:

SCENE: INT. Doctor's office exam room. Day. Not that it matters since exam rooms have no windows. ENTER DR. L.

Dr. L (not my regular doctor, but he is the other doctor my regular doctor practices with): what brings you in today?

Me: this occasionally itchy rash, UTI symptoms, and an overall diseased look.

Dr. L: I see. We're going to need backup, a dermatologist, and a cigarette. (into walkie talkie) Breaker, breaker, 1-9, this is Dr. Manhattan to the front, do you read me, over?

Walkie talkie: (indeciperable gibberish)

Dr. L: go ahead and get the skin man, a cancer stick, and a slice of your mom's fantastic pie. We're also going to need all the backup we can get.

Me: does the cigarette do something for the rash?

Dr. L: no, but judging from the look of things, we could be here awhile.

Me: oh (starts nicotine lust)

(ENTER FABULOUS BACKUP SINGERS, in tight magenta sequinned dresses. They should be hefty black women, like Jennifer Hudson in Dreamgirls, but far fatter. There are three of them. All parts delivered by them are sung.)

Fabulous backup singers: be here awhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiile!

Me: Can I at least have some pie?

Dr. L: may as well, looks as if you're going to die anyway.

Fabulous backup singers: you're gonna diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie!! (jazz hands)

END SCENE.

But on the upside, the sore throat and overall shittiness is going away.

And...still in love. Still mentally going places I have no business going. Like entertaining the notion of having a family. What is wrong with me? All I do is judge people who start that kind of talk three months into a relationship. I had issues with other people dropping the l bomb as early as we did. And now all I can see is a yard full of kids with crazy curly hair and caramel skin. Jesus Christ, stop me.

Even if you counted the 4 months we were together prior to 2008, that still only puts us at ~7 months. Which is still kind of early for that kind of talk.

Dammit, love is a cynic's kryptonite.

And now, to remember what kind of person I was like before I became a total sellout, I'm reading The Watchmen. I like it. It's dark, and reminiscent of the noir Hammett novels I used to read and adore.

I want snacks.

It's cold.

Excess ain't rebellion. I'm drinking what they're selling.

Turns out I am paranoid without even partaking in herbal activities.

I'm fine. I just like to give myself a good scare, just to see if I can still be scared.

Good news: I can.

The internet/server ate my last two (possibly three) attempts at publicly expressing myself. Let's go for the gold son!

Apparently "Sex on Fire" won a Grammy. You go, Kings of Leon!

When money talks, I hate to listen, but lately it's been screaming in my ear.

I wish that people who are in charge of doling out the jobs were cool. It's just like, judge me on how qualified I am, and not how many holes I have in my head or the colors I've added to my skin and hair. I need a job that pays well and does not mind a few extra holes or visible tattoos.

I love this record, baby, but I can't see straight anymore.

As long as the soda cans are red, white, and blue ones!

I'm excited for the weekend. To the point where new, cute underwear was purchased. Well underwear was one part excitement, two parts necessity, and one part lazy. I need to laundry.

He is just that into me.

I swear I'm the marrying kind.

And none for Gretchen Wieners, bye!

hang the DJ, hang the DJ, hang the DJ

I am in a panic. Not even on the streets of London.

Right now I need to clear my head and contact a health care professional. I'm going to talk to my friend who is a nurse this afternoon, and I really need to shake this only slightly logical paranoia. This post is about clearing my head.

My body is doing weird things....well, let me rephrase. I can't tell if my body really is doing weird things or if its only acting weird because I'm acting weird because I only think its doing weird things. The words make sense in that order, I promise.

In the last couple of months, I have become hyper aware of my body almost to the point of (okay, definitely to the point of) paranoia.Things like "I'm getting fatter, is that winter hibernation weight or is that pregnancy weight?", "my period was a day late, oh god what does that mean?", "my period tapered off really abruptly, what the French toast does that indicate?" are all followed by or punctuated with "ohmigodohmigodohmigod". Now as I type, these thoughts look silly in visual words. I mean, I have never been dumb about a sexual encounter. But you know, things happen. Condoms break, rip, slip, tear. I am 95-7% sure that a mishap didn't occur, but you know, what if? Moral of the story, I really should get on the pill and eliminate this shit for good.

There, I said it. Moving on.

I would like to peace the fuck out of Kalamazoo, Michigan. My lease is up at the end of April and I would like to move back to Chicago (I love the city tonight, I love the city always). There are jobs, its just a matter of moving costs. I have found decently priced apartments in okay neighborhoods, and I could always room with someone from craigslist or something if it came to it. Well, "decently priced" can run anywhere from 5-600 for a studio if I am lucky. Good thing I am not claustrophobic. Some are cheaper, but require people skills which, now that I think about it, would not be so bad. I am always looking to expand my social network, especially in cities where I have a very small circle of friends who live there. I feel like there's a catch-22: living spaces require money, aka a job. Jobs require a place to live. And the cycle begins anew. I can't find my pants, film at 11. Stay tuned.

I have chosen to accept a mission. Yes, that mission.

It's pretty funny that for the second time ever, I have a valentine on valentines day. Also funny: I've either spent valentine's day with Matt or nobody at all. Ideally, this v-day would be spent looking at sharks at Shedd Aquarium.

I'm happy and I'm writing. we'll see where this goes.

okay, I'm done brain vomiting.

life may sometimes be sad, but its always beautiful

Yeah, everything's back to normal now. I have my job back. That was a hellish and unnecessarily dumb five days.

More sap from my super sweet boyfriend:

12:29 AM: i miss seeing the top of your head on my chest
12:31 AM: i miss your complete shock at all the noises my intestines can make


1:14 AM you know what i really miss?
1:15 AM i miss the fact that even when i chat with you and use all my stories up on here, if i see you the next day im so excited to talk to you, even when its totally about nothing

... but he doesn't believe in marriage in the conventional sense, he says.

New insanely impossible mission.

But do I choose to accept it?

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you, I'm out!

I've been canned. Sacked. Pink slipped.

FUCK MY LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE.

Tonight and this weekend are not going to be pretty. I suspect there will be crying and drunkeness and hardcore feeding involved with the money that was supposed to be for bills.

I'm probably applying for unemployment and letting the government take care of me for awhile.

Kinda funny how I didn't get fucked by the god-awful economy until the VERY end of Bush's term.

And by funny I mean shitty as fuck and I want to harm somebody.

But my hyperactive sense of entitlement as a twentysomething American female tells me that means I don't have to play nice for the time being. People that take certain kinds of energy to deal with are coming to visit this weekend. I make no promises that I am playing nice. If anybody even looks at me funny, I swear I'm going to unleash a world of fury they didn't even know I had. Jackie, crazy twat Clara, Richard, the homeless bums that panhandle, anybody. I'm not planning to be mean, but I'm just saying, if things are pissing me off, you'll know. Full blown Diva mode has been engaged.

So much for SXSW 2009 magical road trips. So much for spring break.

I started kissing the nicotine smokestack yesterday.

But on the upside, Theresa and I are job hunting tomorrow.

I would love it if the snow stopped, thanks.

There's always the titty bar.

I think it's 80s night. Somewhere else, not at the titty bar. That would be kinda epic though.

Two hours left at this job and I don't care who I offend.

ello ello ello vee eee

Courtesy of Matt, and the reason I am tired this morning:

1:43 AM: when i take time to think about it, i'm liking the idea of growing old with you. although im hesitant to say so, cause it sounds like a total creeper line

when you are broke, the money-problems ratio is inversely proportionate, regardless of what Puff Daddy, Mase, and Notorious BIG would have you think

Good grace, that was a long ass post title.

It's the truth. I've been cut seven hours at work, and even though that doesn't sound like a lot, its my sole source of income for the time being. Fuck part-time jobs.

So I've been looking into leaving. My lease is up in April, and armed with craigslist and not much else (not even a resume, shitty as that is), I've been looking for a job and a place to live. Going home sounds like a stupid option and I'd rather live in a cheeseburger with no money for groceries. But it's still an option, a viable one at that.

I am fully aware of how ridiculous that sounded.

Also fuck not living in a college town. I have gotten spoiled with my less than $500 rents and my downstairs coffeeshops. As I search for places to live that fit my budget, I start thinking I'll apply for loans and just live until I die. Or run out of money. Whichever comes first.

I keep using google maps to ascertain how far apartments are from Matt. My friends think its cute. I think it's creepy.

I found two foxy little places in the $500 range.

Suddenly I am a little more optimistic.

But still chunky. Also trying very hard not to make out with the nicotine smokestack.

Just discovered I am not broke as I thought. Still on a tight budget, but not as tight as previously thought. Thanks, God.

I consider myself a Christian, but I still have sympathy for the devil.

I should go to the movies. I still have not seen The Spirit, and that depresses me greatly.

Also depressing:

Graduate Student Academic Year Cost of Attendance 2008-2009

Tuition and Fees (full-time)

$15,992
Books and Supplies

$1,400
Room and Board

$12,000
Personal Expenses

$3,600
Transportation

$1,800

Total


$34,792

Yeah.

Let the distance bring us together. (I'm alright in bed, but I'm better with a pen)

There need to be more songs about the new year.

Can you keep a secret? I'm in love.

Can you keep another? I need medication when I date someone. I become needy and insecure and paranoid.

For example: this past week, Matt has seemed really distant. In the back of my mind, I know he's probably got to haul ass at work (a direct result of spending five days of the previous week with me) and he has a life and shit outside of me, but in my defense, I am spoiled. Just listen. Before I went to go see him in Chicago (this last time right before new year's), we would talk all the time. Text, facebook, aim, whatever. Now all of a sudden I get a text or two a day. In my head I know its probably because he's tired, but in the back somewhere I am scared that he's not saying a lot because he's tired of me. I'm always scared that people are tired of me. I've also gained five pounds since we started dating, and nobody wants to date a fatty. Lucky for me, I'm pretty. But I mean, if he were to break up with me, I would feel dumb, like real real real dumb because I let this happen. I let him back in. I let myself fall in love. The terror of that pain is enough.

I feel horrible for entertaining thses thoughts, but they just come at me and I can't stop them.

Its kind of like deja vu, but instead of his feelings for Heather, I'm scared of my own imperfection. Isn't that the very definition of insecurity? How do i fix that? I know I'll never be perfect.

But that being said, that's my primary complaint: we don't talk enough. For the first time ever, I feel like I'm sexy and not like people are talking to me just because they want to sleep with me or are scared of me.

I want to start smoking again, just so i'll be closer to perfect.

Impossible you say? Nothing is impossible when you work for the circus.

So, it would seem that Matt and I are together. For real.

I am equal parts thrilled, terrified, apprehensive, and disgusted. I feel like such a hypocrite because most of my life I have been shitting on love, and the minute the potential for love comes to me, what do I do? I turn into an eternally sappy ball of mush. Its gross. There's sap, and on the whole mushy stuff that makes me want to barf.

I have never welcomed nausea this readily in all my life.

So far, we're perfect.

I think we've both grown up since the last time we dated. I mean, I always (always = since 2005) told myself that I would never date someone twice, or date a drummer, or someone who was born with a 7 letter name that could be shortened to a four letter nickname (ie Anthony to Tony, Gregory to Greg, Michael to Mike, etc). Those rules are based on patterns in my life, and now I am kind of spitting in their face. I'm not sure what this compulsion for rules and order is, but its hard to say if I will keep them all. But I digress. I'm happy, and that's a start.

We build momentum with the fact that he seems more willing to invest himself too. When we last dated, I was just a kid, barely 20, which would put him at 21. Very self-centered ages. We both seem to have grown out of a lot of the dumb shit. He's talked about righting some of the fuckups he's made, not because I ever asked him to, but because it would bring us closer together.

When I was in Chicago, he said to me once, "you seem more like yourself." I keep trying to decipher that and coming up with nothing of substance. I blame philosophy class. I feel like it's profound, but can't tell why.

I love pop music again.

Now Playing: "Creepin Up On You" - Darren Hayes

the chicago trip, 67-100

part six: it's all terribly French.

68. return to the apartment.
69. listen to music in Matt's room.
70. watch weird music videos on youtube.
71. start making out.

part seven:I can sleep when I'm dead.

72. realize its 1:30
73. notice that nobody that was supposed to call called.
74. stopped caring.
75. carried on.
76. passed out for approx. 2 hours.
77. resumed activity # 71.
78. realized the sun was coming up.
79. resumed activity #71 again.
80. realized it was 10 am
81. realized I was starving.

part eight: I am sick of committing to the concept, I am fast forwarding.

82. ate breakfast.
83. napped.
84. for obvious reasons, it took an hour to get directions and put my shoes on.
85. wished I hadn't made prior arrangements to pick up Jill so I could leave on Monday instead.
86. left for downtown.

part nine: glory fades

89. made a NASCAR loop around downtown for 20 minutes.
90. swore at Chicago drivers.
91. swore at street signs that were more deocrative than functional.
92. finally made it to where I was supposed to be.

part ten: Indiana, why bother?

93. decided Jill's GPS was a better idea than my other directions.
94. GPS smoked crack.
95. took an extra 15 minutes to get on the damn expressway.
96. got on the damn expressway.
97. watched as it started to snow.
98. played the radio game*
99. stopped driving.
100. smiled.

Anyone else find it pretty fucking silly that Beyonce titled her new album I Am...Sasha Fierce?

I love the city always.

Driving is for poor people and I am not that big of a fan. At least in my homeland of Chicago.

I can't wait to be home. That's where my heart is.

So, what happened:

Part one: in transit.

1. packed a lunch
2. started driving.
3. realized somewhere around New Buffalo I forgot my glasses.
4. Decided it was unnecessary on a scale of 1-10.
5. didn't die despite efforts from wind and looming thoughts of ominous deer.
6. sarcastically thanked mom for putting the thoughts of the deer in my head.
7. listened to genius lite rock radio coming out of South Bend
8. asked if I was there yet
9. realized I hadn't made it to Indiana.
10. made it to Indiana.
11. decided Valparaiso is just fun to say.
12. thought about stalking Kevin, my old english teacher.
13. thought better of it.
14. asked if I was there yet.
15. paid tolls.
16. tried not to think about what would happen if the road were to collapse over a given body of water.
17. thought about what would happen if the road were to collapse over a given body of water.
18. made it to Illinois.
19. paid tolls.
20. Listened to genius radio out of Chicago.
21. tried not to think about what would happen if the bridge were to collapse over a given body of water.
22. thought about what would happen if the bridge were to collapse over a given body of water.
23. entered Chicago city limits

Part two: in the city, I think

24. had mild panic attack anticipating the twattiness of Chicago drivers.
25. realized my fears were only kind of founded.
26. got into a traffic jam.
27. jammed to "Copacabana" by Barry Manilow
28. missed my exit due to Illinois no knowing how to label exits.
29. sat at the world's longest light.
30. cursed Chicago's urban developers.
31. jammed to "Cath" by Death Cab For Cutie
32. tried to stop at a Starbucks.
33. found zero parking anywhere nearby.
34. found a Starbucks at the Dominick's at the other end of the parking lot.
35. got coffee.
36. tried to read.
37. got bored.
38. found the liquor aisle.
39. found 1.75 liters of Skyy vodka for $20.00
40. Purchased vodka and chips.
41. got back in the car.
42. got lost (the fun kind)
43. got lost (the less fun kind)
44. got un-lost
45. tried to visit Devon.
46. refused to pay for parking.
47. found zero parking.
48. had the urge to pee.
49. regretted driving.
50. paid thirty-five cents for a pack of juicy fruit and pissing privileges at a very well lit BP.
51. got frustrated.
52. smoked in an IHOP parking lot.
53. got a call from Matt.

Part three: I finally stop driving.

54. locate Matt.
55. locate Matt's apartment.
56. collapse with joy that I have finally stopped driving after five hours.
57. start drinking.

part four: our weekend starts halfway into Saturday night.

58. continue to drink while Matt showers.
59. realized I was drunk off of one drink.
60. hung out with Matt's roommate and tried not to be awkward.
61. was only moderately successful.
62. decide on dinner plans
63. leave for dinner.

part five: of mice and Kanye

64. buy Yellow Tail pinot noir for dinner
65. get amazing thai
66. make loose plans to meet up with other friends later.
67. pay bill.

It makes me think I'm going for some sort of record.

Okay. More things straightened out. More things to fret over.

Leaving Saturday. Check. Staying with Matt (whatever that means). Check.

However, I now have the following to worry about: Matt doesn't get off work until 8. p.m. I wanted to bypass weekend traffic by going early. If I go early, I am met with the task of anal rape parking rates, and the daunting task of amusing myself. I made plans to hang out with Devon, but I don't know what time that's going to happen.

I have not called Kenny yet. I'm not sure I want to, considering the shenanigans that happened the last time he was in town. But, he did do me the courtesy of calling when he was here. He could potentially fix my boredom problem. Dammit. The only problem with getting ahold of him is that it is a fucking production. Like if you want to hang out with him, you should call two hours earlier than logic dictates. Fucking ridiculous, those English mafia dudes are.

I've got "Dashboard" by Modest Mouse stuck in my head. Considering the situation I have currently put myself in, I am not sure if that's the best thing. Also the album its on is called We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank. Oh it would have been, could have been, worse than you will ever know...

Whatever that means.

You say I'm crazy. I got your crazy. Womanizer. Fucking Britney's army of Swede pop geniuses.

I kind of want to get drunk tonight.

I love the city tonight.

I love the city tonight

yeah I'm updating back to back. Don't get used to it, I've just spent a retarded amount of time in my head, and if I don't get it out, my head may just very well explode.

So I am planning to drive to Chicago (all things go, all things go), and I have no place to stay. On a scale of 1-10, I am not that worried about finding one. I could stay with Kenny, Devon, or Matt. The only place this becomes problematic is where I was attracted to all three of them at one point in time or another. Or now. Which is a point in time. I am also looking at departure times. If I leave right after work on friday afternoon, I am still in Chicago in the thick of rush hour which does not bode well for my mental state of being. If I leave anytime after 5, it will be dark as balls and possibly in the thick of party transit. Weekend traffic is always a biiiiitch. If I leave early saturday morning, I bypass the retarded traffic factor, but I only have 24 hours to get everybody plus my agenda in.

Speaking of agendas, I don't really know what mine is. In regards to the trip, in regards to the boys, in regards to... life. I don't know what I want from Matt, because part of me is undoubetly attracted to him. But let's not be so hasty to forget that he kind of devastated me a little when he broke up with me. I don't know what I want from Devon, because he is undoubetedly cool and kinda crazy, but in the totally cool way. Sometimes I want him. I think he's moving to Japan. Figures.

So I'll go hunting for witches.

Shit, son.

Is the sun out yet?

I will be collecting advice on the leaving/sleeping situation.

Now playing: "Loretta Young Silks" - Sneaker Pimps

There is not nearly enough new wave in my life

So is it really lame that I never realized that "Your Woman" by White Town was about a guy in love with a lesbian?

Shut up, I realize the song is like eleven years old, but still....

Also obsessing about the Snow Patrol single "Take Back the City". This is mostly due to the chorus being catchy and simple as fuck, but also due to the fact that VH1 loves to play the video when I wake up in the morning.

Totally buggin about the roadtrip that I may or may not take. At this point, driving's cheaper than the train, but the thing about driving is I get anxious and paranoid and I need a xanax just to make it to the Walgreens down the street, let alone 150ish miles in a direction I have never driven in before. We'll see. The city met me with a slightly icy reception the last time I went home, but this time already looks to be better than the last. I will watch the weather, and align my planets. Godspeed, you black universe!

Fucking A. Let's watch Hair.

Let the sun shine in.

I miss the old NIN.

Needless to say, today I have had the golden touch in locating old mixes with jams I love. God is an American.

The 80s miss me. 85% of my recreational music happens to be songs sung by for and about robots. Not in the obnoxious Katy Perry way, but in the Depeche Mode/New Order/David Bowie kind of way.

Done with work.

Seacrest out!

Now Playing: "Bizzare Love Triangle" - New Order

Things I am not saying out loud. (you're a slave to yourself and you don't even know)

watch out kids, this could get ugly. The less I see the sun, the more I retreat into myself.

1. I could like Matt again, even though he devastated me the first time we broke up. I generally don't like to repeat dating mistakes, but the more I talk to him, the more I miss him, dammit.
2. I feel like everyone is constantly looking down on me.
3. (Personal pronoun abuse aside,) I feel like with the variety of relationship opportunities that I have had, the only constant is me, which leads to the conclusion that the problem isn't with "them" it's with me.
3a. but what's the problem? Is my personality that terrible? Am I that overweight? Is my fashion sense that askew? Am I that shitty of a person? Am I that smart? Am I that dumb?
4. I was pissy at dinner last night and nobody noticed. We had constructed a plan earlier for me to get fake pissy at dinner, but as the night wore on, I became real pissy. So that one really is my fault, because out of the four other people I was eating with, two were in on it, and one caught on right away. But that doesn't count because a) she was eventually let in on the plan, and b) she's a girl.
4a. I am the type of person to say everything's fine, especially when it's not, and then get depressed when everybody assumes that everything's fine. Ridiculous, I know.
5. I am so jealous of Jill. Everybody loves her and falls all over themselves to be with her and be in her good graces. Everybody likes her so much better and I can't stand it. Well, let me clarify: I can stand it, it just depresses the hell out of me. And I think that is where some of what #2 comes from. Like people only put up with me because I am Jill's roommate.

I told you this was ugly.

This trail mix is disgusting, and now is a good a time as any to do my homework.

Religious views: Devout Playlistism

I thought I was quitting boys. I fell off the wagon twice this summer, and once after school started.

because we count instances, not boys.

I think I am going to quit them again. The entirety of the summer involved my pursuit of a boy named Keith. He's 23, from a small town towards the middle of the state, graduated and now a flight instructor. He gets paid to fly planes. Pretty conservative, and pretty into his faith (Catholic). Of course I had to go and fall for him. Because opposites attract, right? We will call this Mayish, maybe early June. Fast forward to um, September. I have made a bad decision with two boys out in the sticks of Michigan (not as scandalous as it sounds), fallen prey to the syndrome that only affects single girls at weddings, and made out with my neighbor from across the hall (which is a lot of drama all by itself). Word got to Keith that I liked him. Nothing happened. Word got to me that Keith liked me. More nothing, even though the record is till fuzzy as to if he knows that I know.

I don't make the first move.

Fast forward to October. Nothing's changed. Except me. I got bored. To be honest, I think he did too. The thing I will always hate about nice guys (forever and ever amen) is I can't tell when they're flirting and when they are just being themselves. I think he's moved on to my roommate. I can't tell because 1. this kid is habitually nice. All the time. and 2. Every time I project and think that a guy likes her, it turns out to be untrue. Sometimes.

Maybe it is just me.

It's always just me.

I think that's enough navel gazing for one morning.

now playing: " Early Morning" - Britney Spears

a town called malice

malice, malice baby

too cold too cold.

Reading The Brief Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz and its pretty fucking brilliant so far. I want to get a bottle of wine (or whatever relaxing beverage I can get ahold of) and just finish the book out.

I'm actually reading a lot of really good books this summer.

I've been recreationally reading On Beauty by Zadie Smith.

I love it.

Love it all.

I should write more this summer. More than my requiste one poem a month.

Apparently there is going to be a movie version of Oscar Wao. Well at least there is talk of it.

...and you coming back to me is against the odds, and that's a chance I'll have to take.

What is anybody afraid of.

Fearless.

The more I think about it I want a huge honkin' sidepiece.

I'm obsessed.

baby, I'm a blur and saying anything

Grades are posted and it looks lke I'm up to my old tricks. I failed my lecture hall course (the one where you are nothing but a first initial and a last name and a number among a sea of 60-100+ people), did ok in my other minor course (CB), and pwned my major courses (B, BA, and A). I will graciously accept the A and the B (due to them being retakes), but that BA bothers me. It was in my 500 level poetry workshop and I did all the work, including outside of class readings, and my poem revision was hella brilliant. Whatevs. Over it. Over it. OVER IT.

I want another tattoo. I want either my Sage Francis quote (live to tell the story), raven, or my numeral 7.I'm thinking on my ankle or on my wrist.

I'm a beautiful little tattooed gum-chewing freak.

Let me tell you about saturday. I was drunk on vodka (which had not happened in years, let me tell you), and I was outside my friend Elena's apartment, having a smoke. I was doing cartwheels and moshing by myself. It's not as stupid as it sounds, my Elena lives on the first floor and her window was open so I could still see and hear everything. But anyway...I was moshing by myself (possibly to Paramore), and I headbanged my way into a brick pillar. Right on my industrial piercing. Son. Of. A. Preacher. Man. Did it ever hurt. I wake up the next day with all kinds of headachey goodness. I touch my ear to check on my piercing, and I find that the ball on the lower end has fallen off. I locate it, and then attempt to screw it back on, only to find that IT WON'T SCREW ON. In fact, nothing short of krazy glue will keep that sucker on. How do you hit your head so hard you break a screw? I was worried I was concussed, but by monday I was fine. My head hurts again today, but I'm going to go ahead and blame that on the two long beaches I had last night. My vision is also blurry, but when I wear my glasses its okay. I'm going to chalk that up to a poor diet.

Also in other body mod related news: I'm going home tomorrow. With a new hole in my head. My mom barely approved of the industrial, let's see how she reacts to the surgical steel jammed through my nose.

revved up like a deuce?

The ugly friend/drum lessons/hello operator

There's this concept I have come to personify: the ugly ftriend. The one that's pretty...cool (outside the bedroom), and may even be attractive, maybe, independent of the others. It hit me thrusday and all I wanted to do was sit and cry. And consume all the booze I could.

It started thursday afternoon, when the cute boy at work started macking on my coworker. And I think she likes him back. She just broke up with her boyfriend for what could be the the 238,348,853,723,762nd time, and she's a vegan and I'm fairly certain that was Handel's Messiah to the boy's ears. So I was really upset by that. And then we went to the bar and I had wine and lots of other booze and I was starting to feel better but then all my friends kept getting hit on and I was like shit goddamn, I can't catch a break, and then I thought I was going to cry in the bathroom (my trademark, I'm startng to notice) but I didn't. I came close and then some girl came in and I have this complex about people seeing or hearing me cry, so I cut that shit out. And then friday, I worked withTheresa, who is my favorite. But she is gorgeous and all the students hit on her, even if they are old and creepy. And she's smart, and she's cool. We went to a party that night, and every one we went with was so pretty and I really just wanted to lay down and cry/die. The only two things those nights had in common were that I was there and that I didn't get hit on, which only led me to the conclusion that I am THE UGLY FRIEND. Everybody has one. I assumed it was someone else.

It really is enough to make a girl invent an eating disorder.

Smokerexic?

Whatever it is is going to kill me and they will have to name the condition after me.

I want to take drum lessons.

The only way to get over drummers is to become one.

This will not be cut-pasted into my myspace blog, because the persona I have constructed doesn't have these issues. She used to wear her heart on her sleeve and then she changed shirts. She rocks a little too hard, drives a little to fast, thinks a little too much and loves life like it's her job.

That's not me right now.

its a start that won't turn over

I am officially nostalgic for the nineties. I love the nineties as a whole but spesifically the mid to late nineties when things lightened the fuck up. They had a zeigeist that I never saw before and have not seen since. Pretentiousness was frowned upon, and it was about how real you could get it. Well, to a degree anyway. There were definite things and guarantees. There was so much color. It's not like it hurts that much anyway.

We are in times of black and gumetal gray. Our paradigm poses the question of "how fake can it be and still exist?"

Blurring the edges so they blend together properly.

So my life is nothing but a giant theme party.

Last week's theme was suck.

This week's theme is AWKWARD.

Monday was the mother of all awkward days, nothing was particularly awkward yesterday (well not in a way that directly affects me), and I am fully prepared for the awkwardness that today and tomorrow and the day after and the day after that will bring.

Let's start from the beginning. monday I was macked on, and romantic advances are always awkward. I won't get into it because my ego doesn't get that big. But then, at the Carl Phillips reading I had to go to for class, I bump into my studies in drama professor. We catch up, its cute. But then. But then. Then he proceeds to correct me on a quote I attributed to him in livejournal. IN DECEMBER. And then I proceeded to get creeped the fuck out because my teacher READ MY LIVEJOURNAL. Well I guess I shouldn't be shocked because its linked on my facebook. Maybe a few other places as well, I can't remember. Maybe he googled himself. I'm glad there's this little sanctuary where I have not shamelessly linked and nobody knows about my horrific crushes and trainwreck love life.

Things that my old Professor now could know about me:
-I kissed a former student of his that I'm pretty sure he is on VERY good terms with.
-I have a crush on aformentioned former student
-I procrastinated the FUCK out of the final paper for his class.
-I secretly aspire to act.
-I had a fleeting crush on a student IN the class
-I got stoned the night of Central/Western
-I have a sobriety problem
-Tony issues.
-I am a shitty, shitty writer.

I can be a poetess.

I wish it was spring.

I wish for Spring to awaken me.

Art is hard.

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!)

I am not in love

I don't know what's expected from me in the arena of relationships, but I can't seem to catch a break.

I always have something to prove, even when I don't.

I thought I'd be better off without him, cutting him off, completely cold turkey just no more...but something inside me says not to give up, not to let go. I have no problem giving up on those who have given up on me, but this time it's different and that kills me. I'm supposed to be FIERCE. Independent. Crazy/beautiful. Smart.

I think alienating this guy was the biggest mistake of my life. Yeah, I'm supposed to be 21 and invincible and over that kind of shit in like, HIGH school.

So much for MFEO.

I miss that stupid ache.

Fuck. I gotta mend bridges.

I can't remeber if I posted this already

It used to be my "about me" from myspace/facebook...

I'm over conforming to non-conformism.
So J. Crew isn't the AntiChrist (L'acoste is but that's neither here nor there). The point is, I am on my way somewhere, but everywhere en route to somewhere is nowhere. Antiwhere, if you will. This would be my time of reinvention. My vintage habits in exchange for trendier ones at twice the price (but still below MSRP).
Here's to being perpetually fashionably late.
And with that I pop my collar.
My slang will never change, just my shell. I'll still sing sad British/Canadian songs about jackets, bars, and breakups.
Can you tell I'm watching you, analyzing every nervous shift you make beacuse you're not used to how your sweater fits? I can tell you have a crush on that girl's jeans and the year 1996.
Are you up to the challenge?

I'm far too sober to read this shit.

N-A-R You scored 77% Non-Reductionism, 55% Epistemological Absolutism, and 33% Moral Objectivism!

You are an N-A-R: a metaphysical Non-Reductionist, an epistemological Absolutist, and a moral Relativist. If you are simply dying inside to figure out what all this mumbo-jumbo means, then simply continue reading. Metaphysics: Non-Reductionism (Idealism or Realism) In metaphysics, my test measures your tendency towards Reductionism or Non-Reductionism. As a Non-Reductionist, you recognize that reality is not necessarily simple or unified, and you thus tend to produce a robust ontology instead of carelessly shaving away hypothetical entities that reflect our philosophical experiences. My test recognizes two types of Non-Reductionists: Idealists and Realists. 1. Idealists believe that reality is fundamentally unknowable. All we can ever know is the world of sense experience, thought, and other phenomena which are only distorted reflections of an ultimate (or noumenal) reality. Kant, one of the most significant philosophers in history, theorized that human beings perceive reality in such a way that they impose their own mental frameworks and categories upon reality, fully distorting it. Reality for Kant is unconceptualized and not subject to any of the categories our minds apply to it. Idealists are non-reductionists because they recognize that the distinction between phenomenal reality and ultimate reality cannot be so easily discarded or unified into a single reality. They are separate and distinct, and there is no reason to suppose the one mirrors the other. Major philosophical idealists include Kant and Fichte. If your views are different from the above, then you may be a Realist. 2. Realists deny the validity of sloppy metaphysical reductions, because they feel that there is no reason to suspect that reality reflects principles of parsimony or simplicity. Realism is the most common-sensical of the metaphysical views. It doesn't see reality as a unity or as reducible to matter or mind, nor does it see reality as divided into a phenomenal world of experience and an unknowable noumenal world of things-in-themselves. Realist metaphysics emphasizes that reality is for the most part composed of the things we observe and think. On the question of the existence of universals, for instance, a realist will assert that while universals do not physically exist, the relations they describe in particulars are as real as the particular things themselves, giving universals a type of reality. Thus, no reduction is made. On the mind-body problem, realists tend to believe that minds and bodies both exist, and the philosophical problems involved in reducing mind to matter or matter to mind are too great to warrant such a reduction. Finally, realists deny that reality is ultimately a Unity or Absolute, though they recognize that reality can be viewed as a Unity when we consider the real relations between the parts as constituting this unity--but it doesn't mean that the world isn't also made up of particular things. Aristotle and Popper are famous realists. ***** Epistemology: Absolutism (Rationalism or Pragmatism) My test measures one's tendency towards Absolutism or Skepticism in regards to epistemology. As an Absolutist, you believe that objective knowledge is possible given the right approach, and you deny the claims of skeptical philosophers who insist that we can never have knowledge of ultimate reality. The two types of Absolutists recognized by my test are Rationalists and Pragmatists. 1. Rationalists believe that the use of reason ultimately provides the best route to truth. A rationalist usually defines truth as a correspondence between propositions and reality, taking the common-sense route. Also, rationalists tend to believe that knowledge of reality is made possible through certain foundational beliefs. This stance is known as foundationalism. A foundationalist believes that, because we cannot justify the truth of every statement in an infinite regress, we ultimately reach a foundation of knowledge. This foundation is composed of a priori truths, like mathematics and logic, as well as undoubtable truths like one's belief in his or her own existence. The belief that experiences and memories are veridical is also part of the foundation. Thus, for a rationalist knowledge of reality is made possible through our foundational beliefs, which we do not need to justify because we find them to be undoubtable and self-evident. In regards to science, a rationalist will tend to emphasize the foundational assumptions of scientific inquiry as prior to and more important than scientific inquiry itself. If science does lead to truth, it is only because it is based upon the assumption of certain rational principles such as "Every event is caused" and "The future will resemble the past". Philosophy has a wide representation of philosophical rationalists--Descartes, Spinoza, Liebniz, and many others. If that didn't sound like your own views, then you are most likely the other type of Absolutist: the Pragmatist. Epistemological Pragmatists are fundamentally identified by their definition of truth. Truth is, on this view, merely a measure of a proposition's success in inquiry. This view is a strictly scientific notion of truth. A proposition can be called true if it leads to successful predictions or coheres best with the observed facts about the world. Thus, for the pragmatist, knowledge of reality is possible through scientific reasoning. A pragmatist emphasizes man's fallibility, and hence takes baby-steps towards knowledge through scientific methodology. Any truth claim for a pragmatist is open to revision and subject to change--if empirical observations lead us to call even logical rules into question (like quantum physics has done for the law of the excluded middle), then we can and should abandon even these supposed a priori and "absolutely certain" logical rules if they do not accord with our testing and refuting of our various propositions. As a consequence of this, a pragmatist doesn't feel that scientific knowledge is based upon unfounded assumptions that are taken to be true without any sort of justification--rather, they believe that the successes of scientific inquiry have proved that its assumptions are well-founded. For instance, the assumption of science that the future will be like the past is adequately shown by the amazing success of scientific theories in predicting future events--how else could this be possible unless the assumption were true? Pragmatism borrows elements from realism and yet attempts to account for the critiques made by skeptics and relativists. It is essentially a type of philosophical opportunism--it borrows the best stances from a large number of philosophical systems and attempts to discard the problems of these systems by combining them with others. Famous pragmatists of this type are Peirce and Dewey. ***** Ethics: Relativism (Subjectivism or Emotivism) My test measures one's tendency towards moral Objectivism or moral Relativism in regards to ethics. As a moral Relativist, you tend to see moral choices as describing a subject's reaction to a moral object or situation, and not as a property of the moral object itself. You may also feel that moral words are meaningless because they do not address any empirical fact about the world. My test recognizes two types of moral relativists--Subjectivists and Emotivists. 1. Subjectivists see individual or collective desires as defining a situation's or object's moral worth. Thus, the subject, not the object itself, determines the value. Subjectivists recognize that social rules, customs, and morality have been wide-ranging and quite varied throughout history among various cultures. As a result, Subjectivism doesn't attempt to issue hard and fast rules for judging the moral worth of things. Instead, it recognizes that what we consider "good" and "right" is not bound by any discernable rule. There is no one trait that makes an act good or right, because so many different kinds of things have been called good and right. In regards to the definition of "good" or "right", a Subjectivist will tend to define it as whatever a particular person or group of people desire. They do not define it merely as "happiness" or "pleasure", for instance, because sometimes we desire to do things that do not produce pleasure, and because we don't consider all pleasurable things good. Furthermore, Subjectivists recognize the validity of consequentialism in that sometimes we refer to consequences as good and bad--but they also recognize that our intentions behind an action, or the means to the end, can also determine an act's moral worth. Again, there is no one rule to determine these things. Hence the relativism of moral Subjectivism. The most well-known of the subjectivists is Nietzsche. If that didn't sound like your position, then you are probably the other variety of moral Relativist--the Emotivist. Emotivists are moral Relativists only in a very slanted sense, because they actually deny that words about morality have any meaning at all. An Emotivist would probably accept Hume's argument that it is impossible to derive an "ought" from an "is"--no factual state of affairs can logically entail any sort of moral action. Furthermore, a emotivist's emphasis on scientific (and hence empirical) verification and testing quickly leads to the conclusion that concepts such as "good" and "right" don't really describe any real qualities or relations. Science is never concerned with whether a particular state of affairs is moral or right or good--and an emotivist feels much the same way. Morality is thus neither objective or subjective for the emotivist--it is without any meaning at all, a sort of vague ontological fiction that is merely a symbol for our emotional responses to certain events. Famous emotivists include Ayer and other positivists associated with the Vienna Circle. ***** As you can see, when your philosophical position is narrowed down there are so many potential categories that an OKCupid test cannot account for them all. But, taken as very broad categories or philosophical styles, you are best characterized as an N-A-R. Your exact philosophical opposite would be an R-S-O.

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

Darren Hayes yet again, sums it up: my life right now 100%

I got a cottage with a sea view
I got a regular summer tan
I’ve been working up the courage to call you all year, ohhh
There is nothing I can say
There are no good words left anyway
Besides people are cruel
And the world still moves without you, ohhh

Welcome to my Californian home
You don’t have to call me you can leave when you want
There’s a picture by my bed
There’s a light in your eyes
I don’t know
Well I don’t know
Why you still feel alone

And we were dying from the get go
I was dreaming but you never believed
I was trying to fit myself in the spaces between, ohhh
And you were kind and sometimes cruel
You said all the world’s love couldn’t satisfy you
And nothing could have hurt me as much as the truth
Ohhh darling

Welcome to my Californian home
You don’t have to call me you can leave when you want
There’s a picture by my bed
There’s a light in your eyes I don’t know
Tell me ‘cause I want to find out
Do you still feel alone?

Love is elusive when you search for it
Don’t I know
Happiness sometimes it just creeps in
Don’t I know
I’m going crazy
I’ve been wondering
Do you still feel alone?
I need to find
Some kind of peace of mind
I need to find
I got a cottage with a sea view
I got a regular summer tan
I know that I deserve more
But I still want you
Welcome to my Californian home
You don’t have to call me you can leave when you want
There’s a picture by my bed
There’s a light in your eyes
I don’t know
Tell me ‘cause I want to find out
Do you still feel?
Welcome to my California
(I need to find)
Even though I’m no good for you
(Some kind of peace of mind)
There’s a part of me still waiting for you
(I need to find)
Welcome to my happy ending
(I need to find)
Even though it’s fun contending
(Some kind of peace of mind)
I know I know you can’t look back, you can never go back
Welcome to my Californian home
You can never go back
Welcome to my Californian home I know
You can never go back
Welcome to my Californian home I know
You can never go back I know
I need to find, do you still feel?
Welcome to my Californian home
(I need to find)
Even though I’m no good for you
(Some kind of peace of mind)
Deep inside there’s a piece of me, there’s a piece of me
Still waiting for you to come home
Welcome to my Californian home
(I need to find)
I know you can never look back, you can never look back again
(Some kind of peace of mind)
But tell me ‘cause I want to find out
Do you still feel alone?
Oh nooo
Do you still feel alone?
Oh nooo