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.