Tales To Spin

One day, all children...

2010-01-30T16:37:00.003-05:00

Blogging about how hard my life is, teaching in a county in a poor region of the country, seems too self-indulgent, even for me. On a blog. Being a woman in the South is hard, living in an impoverished community is hard, teaching 5th graders who can't read when I have no real teaching skills is hard. But they're only hard to me because I migrated here from a life of (what I recognize now to be) privilege. To everyone from here, it's business as usual. Doing what I do here does not motivate me to seek recognition for it. I don't want a pat on the back. Doing what I do here kind of makes me want to disappear and pretend I never saw any of it. Being here does not make me feel brave and accomplished. It makes me feel small and embarrassed of myself, and of everyone else I know.

Sometimes I honestly hope I can forget it all when I leave, and I am genuinely sorry for that.

2009-12-24T16:31:00.002-05:00

Dear adulthood,

You're weird.

Sincerely,
Rebecca

They think Texas is a country. Seriously.

2009-06-29T20:36:00.002-04:00

I want to kidnap all of my current students and bring them back to Connecticut where no one would let them be in gangs. Gangs? Waterford? Please.

I told them this, because I love them even when I hate them, and little tiny Brenda, throwing up her miniature fingers gang sign, said "Canada? Miss, what the hell are you gonna take us to Canada for?"

Back on the face of the planet.

2009-06-23T23:02:00.004-04:00

I'm in Houston, teaching defiant 6th graders vague concepts about government. They're in gangs and pregnant already, and yesterday they asked me if I was a senior citizen.

Me: Do I look like a senior citizen, Anthony?
Anthony: Nah, Miss, I guess not. Senior citizens are probably like, 30 and up or something.
Me: Do I look 30, Anthony?
Anthony: Nah Miss, you look real young. How old you gotta be to be a teacher? I bet you still in the clubs every weekend, huh, Miss?

They've got me pegged.

Sorry Mia. My bad.

2009-05-12T16:07:00.008-04:00

I would like to take this opportunity to post a public apology for calling Mia from Taking The Stage, among other things, a cunt and a retard. I was just mad because Aaron loves her and not me. I found their Twitter accounts (...and Myspaces...) (sorry, society) and upon further investigation I realized that I was judging too harshly. She's in high school! That makes her like, twelve, and that makes me old. And also kind of like those crazy moms who post fake Craigslist ads hoping their juvenile neighbors will be raped or beaten up or something. Also.. just sorry, ok?

Love muffins.

2009-05-08T15:14:00.001-04:00

I would vote for B. Scott for President, just to watch his press conferences. He is hypnotizing. I watched the whole thing(?????).

omg

2009-04-22T08:04:00.000-04:00

The best.

2009-04-17T09:24:00.000-04:00

I'm an old, creepy, toothless man at heart.

2009-04-01T13:34:00.003-04:00

Oddly enough, this is literally the SAME dance I do to the 30 Rock theme song.

And I'm not even joking this time.

98 days.

2009-03-28T14:38:00.005-04:00

Just threw on my senior prom dress and walked around the house for a while. My family thought it was 86% less hilarious than I did.

Dream log.

2009-03-25T09:15:00.004-04:00

In Berlin I had a dream that Justina's friend (that I barely know, but am apparently VICIOUSLY SUBCONSCIOUSLY JEALOUS OF) died and was sent to the Lost island, and Justina and I had to go rescue her ghost (which would surely be reincarnated and having tea-parties with Jack's dad all over the fucking island if this season is any indication of what happens to corpses there). But we were informed of the death by this girl I went to high school with and don't particularly dislike or anything, however when she approached me to pass along information on Jizzle's friend's death, this is the conversation that ensued:

Her: Becca, I need to talk to you, it's very important.
Me: UGGGGGHHHHHH WHATTTTTT!??!?!?
Her: I want to talk to you over here, there's been an accident...
Me: Well, just fucking tell me, then. Did everyone SURVIVE this accident, you STUPID. BITCH.??
Her: No, Justina's friend died.
Me: Oh.

Now, I could get into the WEIRD SHIT that happened once dream-me and dream-Justina managed to maneuver our way onto the Lost island, but that is not the point of this blog entry. The point of this blog entry is to point out what a horrible person I am in my own mind, and also to show how funny my dreams are. And how funny I am. Now I call Justina a "STUPID.BITCH." for every minor transgression. It's really clever of me and I just thought you should all know. Also, Lost, gtfo of my brain. Sawyer can stay. Everyone else OUT.

Moving to Jamaica, BRB

2009-03-23T17:31:00.000-04:00

LOL, found my soulmate, guys!

Adios, amigos.

2009-03-08T14:51:00.001-04:00

Off to Berlin and Amsterdam for a week. Don't send out the search parties, guys. I'm just gallivanting around Europe. Very busy. Sry2say. Bye!

GTFO, Juliet.

2009-03-05T10:16:00.010-05:00

Okay, so I hate Juliet. I've hated her since the beginning. I hate the way she talks, I hate her weird body and the terrible man clothes she covers it in, I hate her hair, I hate her patience, I hate her freckles, I hate that she's kind of a doctor but isn't really that good since all the babies die anyway. I especially hate watching her make out with Jack because even though I hate Jack and want him to be eternally unhappy/stay far away from Kate so her love with Sawyer can blossom, Juliet is hardly an adequate replacement. Like, let us compare.

Kate, at her dirtiest, is ridiculous hot. Imagine waking up every morning in the JUNGLE and knowing you look gross as shit and you come out of your tent for some water and there's Kate. Just relaxing. Looking fly as hell.

And then there's Juliet. She makes you feel better about being so ugly because like... seriously. She's beat. And it's not like she's doing any better for herself/society in the off-island real world, either!

I'm sorry, but r u srs with this, Juliet? Those severe ass eyebrows, GTFO. I think that's why I hate her so much. She looks like she's always judging everyone! Her face is in a constant state of "ORLY?" And yes, bitch, really! Oh, and just for comparisons sake:

That's right.

So, clearly, Kate is superior in every way. Because not only is she approximately 900 times hotter, she is harder, better, faster, stronger. She shoots people better (helloooo she's an EX-CON) and she has sex with people SO much better. Cages are involved sometimes, sry2say, Juliet. Why don't you go have gentle, boozed up sex with Jack the emo-hermit alcoholic in a tent. He's thinking about that time he fucked Kate, though, just so you know. FYI.

I was agitated when Juliet and Jack started dating because I said to myself (and rightfully so), "LOL DOWNGRADE." But whatever, if that douchebag wants to do it with old ass McBag o' Bones over here, that's his own problem. But then Kate and Jack peaced off the island (because Sawyer sacrificed his OWN LIFE for Kate, and if that's not an ultimate FTW, I don't know what is) and Sawyer was left with Julia Gulia as his only real companion and I said to myself "FUCK." Because I don't want to watch Juliet ever, especially if she's tainting my appreciation of scenes of Sawyer, but ESPECIALLY especially if they're going to be on the island alone for three years with no other hot biddies for Sawyer to make sweet love to. Obviously he's going to get too drunk one night, crying on the inside about Kate, and Juliet will be there, eyebrows arched, to take advantage of his bleeding heart. And to that prospect I say "EW."

But then something happened this episode. At first, I grumbled to myself about how Skeletor was ruining my Sawyer-centric episode, but then she didn't look as weirdly bony. And then she agreed with Sawyer and they told jokes. And then she saved Sawyer's life by expertly wielding her gun. Then she was a mechanic, which made me literally LOL. But then she saved the baby and I cared about her baby-killer storyline for like, 15 seconds, which I have to say, is more than I've cared about Juliet since she weaseled her way onto the show. And then the show kept going and I knew the entire time that the conclusion would be those two, in the "Three Years Later" storyline, playing house, Dharma Initiative style, and I would be miserable about it. But I wasn't completely miserable about it, because this episode reiterated a point that I already know. Juliet is just a filler that men on this island accept as a temporary replacement for the good shit. She is the store brand that you settle for when the name brand is out of stock. Her expiration date is whenever something better comes along.

So Sawyer "loves" Juliet and "can't remember" Kate's face, and therefore thinks that three years is enough time to get over her. But like, come on. Juliet is big spoon when they sleep. If that's not an indication that a man doesn't actually love you, I don't know what is. I can't blame either party; Sawyer is the perfect male specimen, so obviously Juliet loves him and wants to be naked with him at all times. Like, I feel ya, girl. Sawyer is so hot that he transcends the inherent human desire to be with someone who actually likes you back and is not just tolerating you because his first girlfriend flew away on a helicopter but he wants to get laid, so I can see why Juliet would indulge in this charade of a romantic relationship despite the clear evidence that she is not worthy. And Sawyer is just confused. And drunk. And hypnotized by Juliet's eyebrows. I get it, guys. So I decided that I would not be mad about it. I would accept Juliet as the plot device that she is and go to my happy place during scenes of her and Sawyer being intimate rather than be upset by her touching my/Kate's man. Because we all know it's just temporary.

BECAUSE. KATE. CAME. BACK.

The HBIC, Kate Austen, is back on-island and is here to fuck your day right up, Juliet. When everyone was piling out of Jin's van, I sat with my hands clasped together, my eyes stinging a little because the excitement of it all was bringing me to near tears. And then I saw that look in Sawyer's eyes and I knew it was time for Juliet to mosy on. I guess you should get back into gardening or book club or whatever it is that you did to pass the time before going after Kate's sloppy seconds for the second time, Juliet. Sry2say. Kate's ready to resume the "doin' it" duties with Sawyer and I'm (obviously) rooting for her, not you, so it's just about time for you to zoom away in your submarine now.

I really wish we could skip the inevitable rest of the season storyline of Sawyer pretending he really loves Juliet and rejecting Kate, so Kate and Jack continue to awkwardly have sex sometimes maybe but then eventually Sawyer and Kate reunite in a moment of passion and life is good again. Let's just get to the good stuff. And by "the good stuff" I mean when Juliet sacrifices her own life by eating the atom bomb or something. That would make her 3% more exciting than watching paint dry.

Everybody plays guitar.

2009-03-02T13:43:00.007-05:00

I have no musical talent. Like, seriously, none. I can't sing, I can't play an instrument (unless you count the recorder, and then I can say I know how to play one instrument REALLY WELL), I have no concept of music or how to arrange it (I don't even really know what "arranging it" means, LOL sry2say) and I've never tried to write a song, but if it's anything like writing a poem, I am sure to be bad at it.

Actually, that's not true. Once I wrote a song when I was in fifth grade (helloooo, I was going to be the opening act for Hanson!), but it only had two lines: "Can't live with you, but I can't live without you/ You're always on my mind, boy!" Which I'm pretty sure is, if not lifted in its entirety from another song, heavily plagiarized from other bad pop songs of the time. I performed it for my mom once and she suggested I sing from my diaphragm instead of my nasal passage and I said "it's because I'm SICK, MOM, OKAY?" and burst into tears and ran from the room and swore off a life of performance because I am clearly terrible at taking criticism. And relatedly, I did once play the oboe for like, three weeks but never practiced so my fourth grade band teacher got really mad at me and made me sit in the back row of the concert and just pretend to play. I pretend played the SHIT out of that oboe, though. Then I quit. Whoops.

So I'm bad. But like, what the fuck. When has having no talent ever held anyone back from anything before, ESPECIALLY in music? How did I miss the being in a band bandwagon? Well I know how. No one would let me in and I was not ambitious enough to start my own. I tried to learn guitar once but my fingers are short and my fingernails are long and it was just HARD OKAY and I realize these are all excuses and I have no one to blame but myself, but whatever. I've moved on from the fact that I've never been asked to provide my services to a brand new music group. I've accepted it. I would, however, like to remind everyone that I'd be an excellent addition to any already established group of musicians. I have no original ideas or talents to bring to the table, but I have a sparkling personality and a "can-do" attitude that would make anyone say, "Oh wow, look at that girl go!" The go-ing they're referring to would be me twirling around the stage with multi-colored sparklers or maybe a meaningfully decorated ribbon on a stick (more color-guard, less hobo pack). I mean, whatever that performance called for, I could bring it. In fucking spades, guys.

Everyone is in a band. And they're all bad, but at least they exist. I have no musical legacy to bestow upon the world. Not even a bootleg recording of me singing Happy Birthday or something. I put a mean spin on Happy Birthday, I'll tell you that. Everyone who hears it is like, "That girl is so musically gifted, I wish I had a band to invite her to be in," and I'm like, "So true, you guys," and then everyone applauds me and forgets about the Birthday girl or boy. Give me that recorder real quick, I'll blow your mind. And like, sry2say, I'm just radiating with potential. Blame it on society for not letting me SHINE, don't be mad I stole your thunder, six year old cousin who is crying because no one watched you blow out your candles. This is just how life works.

But seriously, I could do like, back-up vocals or something, as long as you turned the volume down most of the way. I'm really enthusiastic, so I know I would just take our stage show to the next level. Give me a triangle or a tambourine or some other non-essential noise maker and a small amount of personal space to dance in and we'll be good to go. I feel confident in this. Oh, and also, you need to let my friend Justina in the band too. Our instruments can be credited in the album notes and on Myspace as "Personality."

So spread the word. I'm ready to break out.

Blame it on the goose

2009-02-26T21:21:00.001-05:00

ORLY, Ron Howard?

I mean... basically.

2009-02-24T16:01:00.003-05:00

"I don't think I'm tangible to myself. I mean, I think one thing today and I think another thing tomorrow. I change during the course of a day. I wake and I'm one person, and when I go to sleep I know for certain I'm somebody else. I don't know who I am most of the time. It doesn't even matter to me."

Things I like: Boys in Flannel Edition

2009-02-22T07:10:00.004-05:00

Lost

2009-02-21T08:06:00.004-05:00

For this being "the season of Josh Holloway," there is a severe lack of Sawyer going on lately. And when he is on screen, he's constantly in the same frame as the INSUFFERABLE Juliet! Step off, bitch! I hate Juliet. Why is she still here? I don't even want her to just die off the show, I wish death by fireball upon her character. I want to see Juliet's skin turn black and fall off her body and I want to know that when she died it hurt like a bitch, and there is absolutely no chance that she will return from it. "It" being her miserable death. I'm just so confused; who actually thinks this woman is a successful character on this show? Who sees her raggedy ass meander into a scene and says, "Oh, thank God Juliet is here!" NO ONE! And why is she trying to get all touchy-feely and emotion-sharing with my/Kate's boy Sawyer? ABORT THIS STORYLINE, Lost writers. I bet Juliet is the black smoke monster. Kill the bitch.

And while we're killing people off, Daniel Faraday has to go, sry2say. I tried to think of a funny name for him (Daniel FaraGAY LOL get it LOL) but I can't because he's so annoying that he makes everything around him unfunny and miserable. First of all, I do not understand his appeal. The dumb facial hair, that stupid fucking tie (which is COMPLETELY impractical for jungle exploration), the infuriatingly slow rate of speed at which he speaks, his stupid MOM, the facial expressions that always convey "Oh shit, I know something no one else knows but for some unspecified reason I can't tell them so I'm just going to be an asshole who makes it clear we're all fucked but won't tell everyone why or how," and his stupid love affair with that dead bitch Charlotte. The scene where she dies and is clearly trying to tell him something important and he's all WTF face and "...but whyyyyy are you telling me this?" was so annoying. If you would STFU for a second, she'd probs explain why she's telling you, you stupid fuck. But the lady fans of Lost are all idiots and seem to love him (and Jack, ugh DIAF) so he's probably going to stay. Why can't we focus on the sassy Azn dude who sees ghosts? At least he's kind of cute.

But I'm not a total hater, this season is bananas so far. Last episode was, despite the painful lack of Josh Holloway saying funny stuff like, "Time travel's a bitch," da bomb. There's always so much shit going on that I totally forget I'm supposed to know certain things, like is Jin in the past with Danielle still? No, right? He (somehow, not going to contest it or pretend I know why or how) managed to time travel to wherever the hell Sawyer and his biddies are, right? So what's with the 1950s Dharma gear and the unfuckedup van? Also, how does that van drive through the jungle wilderness? What happens when it rains and the entire island turns to mud? And wasn't Jin off island having babies with other people? WHAT IS GOING ON? Ugh, I don't even care, I just want to watch Sawyer and Kate do it in the cages again. Can't we time travel to THERE? So epic. And where fuck are Michael and Walt? And Claire? And the rest of the camp? And are the people they accidentally buried alive ever going to emerge from the sand as black smoke zombies? These questions continue to burn as intensely as I hope Juliet does. Thanks for the brain exercises, Lost.

Becca's Bad, Awful Day

2009-02-19T14:07:00.008-05:00

I was in a vile mood today, I even told the baby to shut up and then felt immensely guilty for about thirty minutes thinking that I probably crushed her soul with my negativity. It all started when I woke up this morning at TWO (2) AM (in the morning) and just.. never went back to sleep. It wasn't for lack of trying, though, I'll tell you that. At 4 AM I decided to admit defeat and composed a teary e-mail to Jizzle about the horrible state of my life, and then the REAL bullshit started happening. It was straight out one of my favorite children's book, Grover's Bad, Awful Day.

First, to call what was happening when I stepped out into the Boston morning "raining" is a gross understatement. It was pouring. The rain was assaulting me. Physically, psychologically, sexually; it was terrible. And trudging through the swimming pool that was Government Center, I realized that I only own suede shoes. Like, what a stupid idea that was. This is just one of the many reasons that I need Tim Gunn to guide me through my life. After the third pair of suede boots (and the suede sneakers) he would have touched my elbow gently and said, "This worries me." He would have insisted I get something sensible that could be worn in the rain (while ensuring I didn't compromise my sense of style, of course) and then he would have invited me over to snuggle. He also would have made sure that my umbrella wasn't broken so the entire right side of my body was not drenched by the time I got to the T.

When I DID get to the T, the D line was on the tracks, waiting for me to board. What luck!, I thought. I hurried right over and when I was about six steps away, the EVIL train conductor closed the doors and then the train just sat there! SANS ME! At this point I was overtired and groggy, uncomfortably damp from the rain, sad about a boy (partly to blame for the crying/e-mail writing mentioned earlier), completely uninterested in going to work for ten hours with a baby whose favorite activity is seeing how many pieces of my hair she can rip out in one pull and now the T was playing me for a fool! I felt like this girl who I found when I googled "teen angst." So, in teen angst fashion, I obvs pulled out my iPod and turned it as loud as it would go, damaging my ear drums forever but ~reveling in the pain~ as the kids like to do. I received a number of stares from individuals whose morning commute was disturbed by the unpleasant sound of the feedback from my earbuds, and I was really hoping someone would say something to me about it so I could reply "SUCK MY DICK, WORLD" and start cutting right then and there, but no one had the guts. I must have looked sooo angry.

Actually, I'm pretty sure I was pouting. Pouting and scowling. But anyway, I got to work (after a fleeting wish that lightning would strike the subway car, a flashback to the Museum of Science lightning demonstration that said metal structures are the safest places in lightning storms, a cursing of the concept of science, more pouting) and Justina had e-mailed me back the funniest, most level-headed and feminism-infused response I could have ever imagined and I realized that I have the best friend in the whole universe! Sry2say, everyone else. Then I realized I'm leaving for Berlin in 16 days, and I'll only have to be alone in Boston, dealing with the rain and the scummy dudes, until the end of April, which isn't really that far away. Then I'll live on campus with Jizzle for senior week (roomies!), graduate, bring Justina home for a few days so she can understand my life/appreciation of rap music, drink away the knowledge that we'll be indefinitely separated when we head to Maine for Memorial Day weekend, fly down to Disney World for a week with the fam, come back in time to have my graduation/going away picnic and then, not two days after that, I'm MOVING to MISSISSIPPI! Like, helloooo, it's just like in Grover's Bad, Awful Day when he sees all of his friends at the ice cream parlor and they ask him to play football or something and he suddenly realizes that tomorrow will probably be better! Thank God!

My life is fine, in summation. So Jesus, this morning when I said, "Seriously, just end this shit dude," ("this shit" being the world) I was just kidding. Please don't. Love always, your girl Bizzle.

Fuck you, True Blood.

2009-02-18T17:31:00.004-05:00

WHAT THE SHIT, True Blood!? Please ignore what it says about my dedication to the show that I forgot to watch the last episode when it came out (November 2008, LOL whoops) and just now got around to finding out who the killer is. Are you ignoring it? Okay, good, because WHAT THE SHIT, True Blood!?

What is it exactly that I am being punished for, TV Gods? Why do you enjoy making me miserable all the time? You either cancel my favorite shows, a la VMars, or you make me wish they had been cancelled before they were RUINED. Not only did you kill off my two favorite True Blood characters, but you made one of them a cold-blooded woman murderer! Rene killed approximately 18 of Jason's sexual partners, his own sister and even Sookie's fucking Grandma! That is some bullshit. Not my Rene, with his shy little smile and that cute Cajun accent and the "sure, I'll marry the bitch with poorly dyed hair and two pre-pubescent children" can-do attitude that made me SO EXCITED everytime I caught sight of him on screen in his little construction reflector vest. Rene from True Blood gives me butterflies, internet, I'm not ashamed to admit it. Or should I say GAVE me butterflies, since Sookie decapitated him with a shovel. And just as I'm reeling from this turn of events, Bill apparently eats Lafayette and then hides his body or some shit? Fuck this show! When all those haters were like, "Ohh, another vampire show, how original," I told them how special it was and that they were wrong. I feel so betrayed. Rene was a relatively minor character who brought such light to my life, you couldn't have made it one of the other randoms? Really, people who write True Blood? Fuck off. Lafeytte better be on the show next season or I'm probably not watching. Make that fabulous man a vampire, or ELSE, HBO.

The only reason I might consider continuing to tune in:

Don't mind if I do, Jason Stackhouse.

Lookout, kid.

2009-02-17T14:39:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I ran to catch the T and the driver waited for me. "I want you to know, I don't do that for just anyone," he said as I paid my fare, and I can't decide if I should wonder what it was about me that made him wait, or what it is about everyone else that makes him leave.

Boston Molasses Flood

2009-02-16T18:36:00.001-05:00

Being outside today reminded me of the beginning of softball season when it's still kind of cold so your mom makes you wear a long sleeved shirt under a sweatshirt and at first your hands and nose turn red and raw and you are convinced they are going to fall off but then you start to move around a little and suddenly you're hot, but it's cold, but it's not that cold and now you're sweating but it feels kind of nice and your lungs hurt a little bit but in a good way and so you take off your sweatshirt and then you're HOTCOLD at the same time and then you get hit on the top of the head with a fly ball and you sit on the bench and drink Gatorade until you've stopped crying because you think you have brain damage.

Happy VDay, babies.

2009-02-14T13:45:00.005-05:00

Dance with me my old friend
Once before we go
Let's pretend this song won't end
And we never have to go home
And we'll dance among the chandeliers

And nothing matters when we're dancing
In tat or tatters, you're entrancing
Be we in Paris or in Lansing
Nothing matters when we're dancing

You've never been more beautiful
Your eyes like two full moons
As here in this poor old dance hall
Among the dreadful tunes
The awful songs we don't even hear

And nothing matters when we're dancing
In tat or tatters, you're entrancing
Be we in Paris or in Lansing
Nothing matters when we're dancing

Lily Allen, be my friend please.

2009-02-14T11:28:00.009-05:00

I fucking love Lily Allen. The shit that comes out of this girl's mouth is hilarious, and I don't mean it in the same way I mean it about the majority of other celebrities who I find to be "funny," like Tyra Banks. Lily is actually funny. I want to be her friend and help her search through her Google alerts and talk about how much we hate Katy Perry and have bodyguards carry us out of clubs and get schwasted and argue with Elton John on television. She is a sassy little firecracker, guys, and we are soul mates.

Her second album is da bomb, and I will tell you why. Homegirl is relatable as fuck and is singing about shit that is of relevance to me as girl in my early 20s. Her take on relationships, break-ups and premature ejaculation are all covered. Alright Still, her first CD, had a song, "Not Big," which I thought was the harshest/most awesome break-up song ever because she tells everyone her ex has a small penis and says she's going to fuck all his friends in revenge! That's funny! But "Not Fair," on It's Not Me, It's You, is maybe worse because it's about how she really wants to like this guy but he cums all over the sheets before she's ready and that is some shit. I feel like every girl in the world who has had sex ever is like, "I feel you, girl." And with this song, it's almost painful the way she calls him out, because no one wants to hurt that guy's feelings, but learn some self control, dude. Think about baseball. Who else sings about stuff like this? No one. Lily Allen, shedding light on the perils of bad sex since 2007.

There are two types of break-up songs on this album, those of the "fuck off and die" variety (my favorite track on the whole CD is "Never Gonna Happen," the way she so happily singsongs the line "I don't love you," is fucking excellent) and the "BRB, busy succeeding at everything" type. "I Could Say," falls in the latter category and the first time I heard it I said, out loud to myself, alone in my room (don't judge), "YES." Because like, yes, Lily Allen, that is how I feel sometimes! How'd you know girl? You reading my blog? But I don't just relate to my girl on the bitter hook-up/break-up tip, this CD has a few little tiny love songs that I am a complete sucker for, not even ashamed. Last year, a few weeks after my ex and I broke up, I was in a convenience store in Ireland and "Littlest Things" came on as I was talking myself out of my eighth unnecessary Leprechaun keychain and I almost started crying (DIAF, haters) because, POWER THROUGH YOUR SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT FOR A SEC, her songs are about the nuances of being in love as opposed to the grandiosity of a relationship and that's the shit I care about. That's what anyone who isn't an idiot cares about. "The first time that you introduced me to your friends,/And you could tell that I was nervous so you held my hand," is why relationships and love are nice, sry2say, Celine Dion. Try again next time. She's got the right amount of trivial, funny and lovey going on, and I like to think of "Who'd Have Known" as the happy ending to "Littlest Things" and like, yay love! She's not a lyrical mastermind by any means, but fuck it, I love the bitch. She somehow captures how retarded and in love and angry and irrational and funny girls like MOI are, at this very second of my existence, and anytime I feel like someone is paying me attention or acknowledging me in any way, it makes me say A+++++++++.

So Lily Allen's new CD is the shit and so is she. I have nothing but love for people who publicly embrace how batshit they are. She says outlandish things about other celebrities, writes suicide notes on her Facebook sometimes, gets carried out of clubs by her family members. She's like your best friend who drinks too much and always gets you involved in bar fights because she talks too much shit and sleeps around more than you do, but helllooooooo, she's your BEST FRIEND! You love her regardless. And so you buy all of her CDs and tickets to see her in concert when she comes to Boston. At least I do. And I'm always right, so hop on this train, friends. Next stop, Successtown.

My camera lens is smudged.

2009-02-14T09:54:00.005-05:00

On our walks, Gatsby runs, full force, tail wagging, toward anyone we pass and feels the need to smell every tree in Boston, but every so often he looks back at me, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, with a look on his face that says "OMG SO FUN, RIGHT?" and then he jumps around a little and it is fun, little puppy, you're right.

The morning commute.

2009-02-12T08:24:00.003-05:00

I'm a complainer. It's just what I do, sry2say. But today it's like, 50 degrees in February and the commute sucks and this baby cries for the ten hours a day I'm here and Jizzle's gone and Boston's lonely, but the North End in Boston before 7 AM, slick streets and delivery trucks, it could be worse. Look at that picture quality. Get 'em, Blackberry Storm!

When the T decides to actually bring me to my Brookline Village destination early, I like to take a lap around the neighborhood before coming to work. It's quiet, except for the kids milling about in the front yards, pink raincoats and purple backpacks on, jumping in puddles on purpose. The houses are old and all have huge porches with porch swings and big wooden front doors, sometimes a big circular window upstairs. And like, okay, feminism, career, I'm all about it, but I really just can't wait to have babies and a big house and live my domestic life at 7 in the morning. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. And if there is, suck my dick, world!

Coming home from work on Tuesday, I sat across from a cute boy with glasses reading "Orientalism" on the T. I think it was the glasses that made him nonthreatening enough for me to unabashedly stare at him as I tried desperately to remember what the fuck "Orientalism" was about since I think I just skimmed it that time it was assigned because what if his test of our future love was to quiz me on the book? Shit like this happens on the T all the time, guys. It's how relationships blossom, just stating a fact here. Someone catches someone else looking at them and you have thirty seconds to answer one question about the object they're holding and then you're in love forever. BIRDS AND THE BEES, guys. But anyway, all I could remember was the guy who wrote it was named Edward Said, pronounced like Sayid on Lost, and then all I could do was wonder why they spell Sayid's name the way they do and whether it's so stupid Americans can sound that shit out on IMDB.com and then I just got totally away from my future boyfriend in my thoughts and then something caught my eye and it was the glimmer from his wedding ring and I just thought, "I bet they're in love." I bet if he comes home late and she's asleep he snuggles right up to her and doesn't try to wake her up to have sex with her or anything, just lets her sleep because he knows she's probably tired. I bet before he falls asleep he thinks about how lucky he is to have her and kisses her shoulder, and he could never grow a beard so his chin is clean shaven and doesn't tickle her and wake her up but she sleeps deeper anyway because he's there now and she just knows. I bet that's how it goes. And a boy who reads "Orientalism" for funsies is appealing in theory, but I need someone who doesn't judge me for America's Next Top Model, know what I mean?

If it gets cold again I might just off myself, this weather is too good.

You're welcome.

2009-02-11T19:22:00.009-05:00

So everyone's like, "Oh God, Chris Brown hit Rihanna," and don't think I'm ignoring it Chris Brown, you midgety might as well have been an extra on the last season of The OC never even met Mischa Barton Doublemint hunchback motherfucker, I'm just waiting until I see the pictures so I can have all the evidence before I start to write about YOU. I might not even have time before Jay Z murders you. Who knows. We can just hope for the best, which would be your swift death, Chris Brown.

No, I'm writing about the women who are planning to take to the streets on Valentine's Day to destroy CDs and posters of Chris Brown in solidarity of their fallen soldier, and like, alright. Women who own Chris Brown memorabilia to have it to destroy in the first place strike me as the type of women who probably don't need much persuasion to go batshit around VDay, but babies, this is what I'm trying to tell you. We have asked and Zac Efron has delivered. He gave us all what we need to get through this difficult time. A shirtless hike! Happy early Valentine's Day to the WORLD! So like, set aflame a pile of "Run It" singles if you must, but let's not forget the glorious men of the world. Men like Zac Efron. Shirtless. And we would know if he beat BBV. That bitch would break like a twig. Look at his arms! Glorious.

Zefron, solving the domestic abuse crisis, one outdoor activity at a time.

The City

2009-02-05T08:55:00.006-05:00

When I first heard that they were making a spin off of The Hills for Whitney Port, ingeniously titled The City since its set in New York, "skeptical" would be an excessively polite term to describe my position on the new show. Whitney's purpose on The Hills was to raise her eyebrows sometimes while Lauren babbled on about her weird looking group of friends and give really vague advice about shit she had no real involvement in because she was intelligent enough to not want to hang out with Audrina Partridge. And this is why we liked her; she was never caught on camera crying into her martini in the VIP section of Les Deux because Brody bought another girl a drink. In fact, we hardly ever saw Whitney outside of the job she shared with Lauren and I preferred that because her presence classed up the show in a way that I felt was detrimental to my ability to appreciate it for being terrible. Unlike everyone left on The Hills, I actually liked Whitney as a human being because 1. she was one of the only good looking people on the show, and 2. I knew nothing about her, and here comes MTV trying to tarnish her good name by showing us what she's actually like.

However! I was wrong! That tends to happen once every few years, I'll admit it. But while I would consider The Hills one of my favorite "reality TV shows that I watch and appreciate because they are so bad (as opposed to in spite of) and are complete departures from what 98% of the world's population consider to be reality" shows, I would just say The City is one of my favorite shows period. I become agitated having to wait for the next episode! While I like Lauren Conrad (as much as anyone can like the TV character Lauren Conrad), I would murder her within 15 minutes of being her friend. I'm confident in this assertion. I'm not one of those girls who just ~can't~ be friends with other girls, but Lauren Conrad is a good example of a girl I would be able to tolerate for eight minutes out of my day and then have to have some serious alone time. There are plenty of people out there who are interested in being in the middle of some legit drama-rama all the time but I would not take the Lauren Conrad blood oath of super bestie friendship because I am not one of those people. But Whitney is someone I would know casually, probably through a friend of a friend, and when I saw her at parties I'd say, "Aw, that Whitney Port is just so cute!" Because she is! And she's sort of an idiot, but not in a way that makes me want to recommend her for euthanization like everyone on The Hills.

Logistically speaking, New York City is a much more interesting place to see on TV. I feel like everyone in LA is literally brain dead. LA is a wasteland of people like Stephanie Pratt and Chet, the shithead Mormon from the newest season of the Real World. I cannot get behind a city where everyone's MO is to be famous. Have you not seen what happened to Britney and Lindsay and even Christian Bale? Why do you want that? It's not like people move to Los Angeles for the cuisine or excellent air quality, they're going there to waste their lives being miserable and mean to DP's that walk into their scene. But the worst part about LA, to me, someone who has never been there, is that it's not the place that dreams go to die, it's the place where really pointless and outlandish dreams are born. Oh, a singing career, Heidi Montag? Okay. Maybe. It's LA. But in NYC, you're more likely to be struck in the head by a falling bar of gold from Trump Towers than have someone entertain your demo that was produced by your douchebag boyfriend Spencer. At least that's how I see it. It is more likely that Meryl Streep will push you into a puddle of radioactive material and the turtle you're holding will turn into a mutant Ninja and you're forced to live the rest of your days in the sewers teaching him offensive martial arts so he can save the city from crime. And Spencer Pratt.

The parties on The City are classy as SHIT and there are actual, working models everywhere. Models in LA are people who are already rich and have houses there with Leonardo Dicaprio or girls who are asked to do spreads in Maxim. In NYC, it's those skinny, weird looking models who eat 45 calories a day and whose legs Audrina Partridge could snap with one intense look from her googly eye. Bitches who work in Milan and shit. Whitney's one friend? Allie? The model who in the span of two episodes has been cheated on, lied to extensively and accused multiple times of having an eating disorder? Now this is a reality TV personality I would like to spend time with! She's got that half girl/half alien vibe going on and her body is literally impossible. I have no idea how she is moving and existing when she's on screen. There is not enough there to sustain her life force. Yet there she is, walking down the street, drinking coffee, at an art gallery. Living her tiny, fragile little life. Excellent.

And the villains are so much better because I have no idea if I'm supposed to actually dislike them or not! One of them is Whitey's boyfriend! Then there's Olivia, the Socialite (or "Social," as she says) who works with Whitney at Diane von Furstenberg and she is just fabulous. She clearly just doesn't understand Whitney or the set-up of her show. My favorite thing about her is that they're clearly editing her to be the person we're all supposed to think is rude or pushy (if not downright bitchy), but everything she does is borne of the desire to just make Whitney her friend and adhere to regular rules of friendship! If you're at work, you should probs be working and not recounting every intimate detail of your social life with people you just met and who CLEARLY dislike the people you're talking about. When Whitney launched into the retelling of the drama concerning Allie's boyfriend possibly cheating on her, Olivia forgot that she was supposed to be a Whitney-Port-friend-at-work type character and instead was like, "Umm why are you telling me all of this, and why are you friends with these people? Come to my party." And the music and Whitney's reaction were both indicative of this girl being a CUNT but I think she's the most refreshingly normal character on any of these shows. She literally cannot understand why Whitney would not want to be her friend because all of her friends are rich and maybe gay and they have dinner parties. I love her.

But the real reason this show is so much better than The Hills is because everyone, save for Whitney's BFFL Erin who I have not decided on yet, is good looking. You have some alien crossbreeds, but Allie is still hot for being Skeletor's love child with the elusive element known as Nothingness. Whitney's boyfriend Jay is hot AND Australian, his douchey roommate/Allie's boyfriend is a hot male model, Olivia is fly, and Whitney's got legs for day and blond hair to rival all of my dreams about my own hair and life. When I'm watching a show and thinking the person I'd most likely want to have sex with is BRODY JENNER, the man who sucks the funny out of the concept of "bromance" and just leaves you with the repressed homosexuality, you know it's a bad show. But on The City, even the people in the background are hot. And I really don't need much more than things that are pretty. I liked Marie Antoinette, remember? I'm here for the aesthetic. I have Lost for when I want to feel like I am alive and can form thoughts and recall memories.

So anyway, I love The City and I hope you guys do too. Suck it, Speidi.

I have Pop Pop in the attic.

2009-02-03T09:34:00.008-05:00

The other day I watched Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist against my better judgment and now my heart, which was previously filled with venomous hatred for Michael Cera, has been slightly thawed. Basically everything about Juno made me want to kill myself and others around me (except Jason Bateman, but still, he was a pervomaniac!), ESPECIALLY Michael Cera's character. Didn't he have like, a race car bed or something? Ew. Anyone who sleeps in a race car bed that is not doing so ironically (well, actually, especially if they're doing it ironically) should not be having sex. My disdain for Ellen Page knows no boundaries and cannot be successfully translated into text and unfortunately for Michael Cera, it rubbed off, but I was still like, "Okay, but he was George Michael, so I should give him the benefit of the doubt," but now he's holding out on the Arrested Development movie and I went back to wanting to dropkick his misshapen head off his stupid body, which suited me just FINE because Zac Efron is still vacationing with his shirt off and that's more than enough for me in terms of young Hollywood heartthrobs.

But like, he was cute in Nick and Norah, right? He wasn't playing his stock mentally retarded character and I watched it for a while with my head cocked to one side thinking that I'd probably hit it. And Kat Dennings, are you just the cutest or what? I didn't really pay enough attention to the movie to decide if I liked it or not, but it just reminded me of my freshman and sophomore years in high school when I knew lots of boys who went to shows and wore girl pants and solid colored zip up hoodies and used hair product and were total DICKS for dudes who listened to fucking Bright Eyes and where was Michael Cera then? All cute with his mixes and puppy dog eyes. Oh, right, fucking that slutty bitch he's obsessed with and who wears heels to hardcore shows. Like, right? Isn't that life in high school, when you first get a car and drive three hours one way two days after Christmas to see a $7 Boys Night Out (????) show and oh, there's Nick and his annoying fucking girlfriend, and oh, good, that fat girl with dreads just pushed her into the mosh pit, and oh, nevermind, Nick rescued her. Right? So way to go, filmmakers, happy ending! That's what high school should have been like.

So Michael Cera is currently out on parole in the part of my brain that likes things because he fingerbanged Kat Dennings (and when she was embarrassed by her O face said, "Don't be embarrassed, you're beautiful," which I can't decide if I think is cute or smarmy and annoying, but I'm leaning toward nice because it's probably tacky to hate on someone who is trying to be sweet, even if they're fictional, and I have a feeling that Michael Cera probably really says that to his weird Asian girlfriend and means it). If he keeps making asshole comments about the Arrested Development movie, he's going back to brain jail, and so help him Jesus if he doesn't actually do the movie. But then I saw this:

and I just thought, aww, Michael Cera! You have so many funny friends who I love! So please stay as far away from Ellen Page as humanly possible and we might be able to co-exist in this world.

Oh, and P.S., Christian Bale, let's just calm down.

Last.fm

2009-02-02T12:11:00.004-05:00

I'm obsessed with most things that other people like only moderately, but I've embraced it. There are a few things that I like a weird amount, and when I hear other people talk about them I have to suppress the urge to knife them to prove that I like whatever it is MOAR, but that sort of devotion is reserved for things I've committed myself to for life, like Harry Potter. I will avada kedavra you in a SECOND over Harry Potter, don't get it twisted.

But most things I'm just regularly obsessed with, and the newest magical invention to catch my attention is Last.fm. I know it's been a website since the beginning of the internet, but I think I've previously documented my aversion to discussing anything having to do with music with anyone ever, so I have obviously avoided having my every iTunes move documented for everyone to see (did I listen to "Stars Are Blind" by Paris Hilton three times in a row last week? ...maybe), but listen guys, they create a LIBRARY for you with pictures of the artists! Really great pictures! Oh, and also, you can have FRIENDS on it! It's about how popular you are, and you all know how I thrive on internet popularity. They give you music RECOMMENDATIONS, and thus far, they've really worked out for me! In case you're not on it, you should be.

After 24 hours of being a Last.fm member, I only have 306 played tracks and it's really driving me crazy because like, hellooooo internet, please document my musical preferences for the world to see FASTER. Right now I'm just playing a playlist (albeit a 2,000 song playlist) so I only have my legit music in my library, but soon I'm going to open it up to all my musical friends and I expect the Beatles will soon be bumped out of the number one spot by Mariah Carey and then the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical episode soundtrack will start showing up and I'll be rethinking my decision and oh yes, that is the album Jimmy Eat World released in 2007, oh yes, they're still recording and I'm still listening, and uh oh, how did Danity Kane get on my playlist? Just kidding, I love Danity Kane (fuck you Diddy). But that's probably what's going to end up happening. And by "that" I mean deep regret.

So for the time being, if you have a Last.fm account add me and I can judge and stalk you (the "Listening Now" thing is excellent). Here's mine, be my friend.

Talking shit about a pretty sunset.

2009-01-30T11:44:00.006-05:00

I woke up today and the fan was going because I can't sleep without a sound and I finally took my air conditioner out before I went home for Christmas. Even with the fan, my clothes were sticking to me under the blanket and the sun had risen completely into a cloudless blue sky. I thought it was mid-afternoon on one of those days on the cusp of summer, when the wind still tugs a little too hard at your skirt but you're content to hold it down with one hand while you're crossing the street because the sun just feels so nice on days like that. Turns out it was only 7:39 and there's still snow on the ground, but for a few seconds before I remembered, I had forgotten, and there was that intangible feeling of freedom that you only get when its warm, or from confused realities before 8 AM.

155 days until Mississippi.

Swagger of a champion.

2009-01-30T10:54:00.010-05:00

There was a lot to be excited about during last night's episode of America's Best Dance Crew. It was Britney Spears night! Lil' Mama was gesturing emphatically with her claw hands! Mario Lopez was murmuring pointlessly into his microphone while the judges talked! JC was taking legitimate notes on a pad of paper! But hands down, the best part of the show was when choreographer/judge Shane Sparks said "no homo" and they had to bleep him out.

I have to admit though, this was da bomb.

Additionally, the pictures of the new ANTM girls are out, and it looks like half of them got lost on their way to the Bad Girls Club audition. I couldn't be more underwhelmed if I put effort into it.

I have a mean bone in my body.

2009-01-29T10:41:00.011-05:00

I didn't keep a travel blog when I was in Europe, and that's probably a good thing. Lots of things happened in the Netherlands and it's surrounding countries that I would like to keep off the internet/out of my consciousness. But my girl Jizzle is keeping one, so peep it! Also, we are co-writing a blog that is mostly just about our friendship, so only of interest to the two of us, but here's the link anyway in case you're stalking me.

Since Europe I've had a problem committing to pretty much everything, but most notably emotions. I go into a situation thinking I want one outcome and then find myself wanting something completely different. I bounce between being mad at people I know I should be mad at and wanting to see them again. I've always been indecisive (please never ask me to choose the movie), but this is just getting silly. If I hadn't signed a very scary looking contract with TFA, who knows what I'd be doing with my life come June. I don't know what exactly about the Europe trip turned me into a non-functional human being, but it made me restless. And possibly retarded. Maybe I really did give myself brain damage.

One day, in Paris, my roommate and I wandered around the entire city, walking toward the Eiffel Tower. We could see it in the distance, and though it didn't seem to be coming closer despite any route we took, we just kept walking, figuring it had to stop eluding us eventually. We ended up coming up on it from the side, and then we were under it and our entire day's efforts were vindicated. It's like an analogy for life, get it? Maybe I'm just taking the long ass route to self-understanding. That's probably it.

In other news, I've decided to only have Facebook profile pictures of me when I'm super wasted between now and June, so I can send the right message to my future Teach for America colleagues who keep adding me. "If you don't think that throwing ping pong balls into solo cups filled with beer is a fun way to pass the time, we can't be friends probably, sorry," is the message I'm communicating, I think. The "P.S. I'm awesome" is implied. I figure I might as well be upfront, rather than spring it on them once I've had a few drinks at orientation. And by drinks I mean moonshine because I'm moving to rural Mississippi.

Things I was obsessed with when I was younger, volume 1

2009-01-27T11:15:00.005-05:00

I don't know that I'd say that I have an addictive personality, but I probably have an obsessive personality. This facet of me reared it's head pretty early, and as a child I had really intense... interests.

A few days ago, I was watching Titanic with my roommate and I was reminded of the weird relationship I once had with Leonardo Dicaprio. "Everyone loved him," my roommate said, but I did not just LOVE Leonardo Dicaprio, I LIVED for Leonardo Dicaprio. It still kind of hurts when I look at him because he's just so.pretty. Right? Doesn't it break your heart how perfect he was? He's still fly, but nothing compared to his Romeo and Juliet/Titanic days, am I right? Rhetorical question because I know I'm right.

As I grew to be the fantastic woman I currently am, I had a few trial periods, dipping my toes in the proverbial waters of young adulthood interests. I was a cheerleader but only because I was competitive as shit and was too short for basketball and too scared of the softball (as opposed to flying girls? don't know the logic) and once I got to high school, I was over it. I tried theater in middle school but was too consumed with hatred of the theater kids to continue on that path to glory. I brought down the house at Summer on Stage camp at the Garde though, so suck on that, Waterford public schools. When I was a freshman, (according to old livejournal entries) I signed up for something called the "English Club," whatever the shit that is, but I have no recollection of it so it clearly wasn't that important. What I'm trying to say is that, while trying to figure out my place in the universe, I jumped on a bunch of bandwagons that turned out to be taking one way trips to Failtown, but I was riding the Leonardo Dicaprio train all by my lonesome in fifth grade. I was the first on the celebrity obsession tip at Cohanzie Elementary, that's for sure. But all the boys called him Leonardo Dicraprio and all the other slut bitches were on their dicks and thought it made them look cooler if they hated him too, so I stood by mysizzelf, representing for the fangirls across the world. Back then I didn't even know that something called "the internet" existed and I could find other people who cried sometimes while stroking the poster of Leo as Romeo, hair all wet and sassy (pictured above). Friends, I was totally alone.

This, paired with my fourth grade Hanson mania, molded me into the strong willed (some might say "difficult") lady I am today. It's one of the first times that I knew that I was almost always right. And even if I was wrong, I didn't give a fuck, I would happily nurse my love for Leo without societal validation. Less competition. Little did I know fucking Gisele was lurking about, that leggy bitch. But anyway, liking Leonardo Dicaprio the extreme amount that I did has prepared me for a life of being shunned for what I like. Because I am always on the minority side of everything. Everyone hates what I love, some people just on the principle that I like it. But in the words of my dearest friend Jizzle, I don't give a SHIT. Loving Leo made me strong in the face of the haters and for that I will always want to do it with him. Lucky him!

Best famous person.

2009-01-23T14:33:00.003-05:00

"I just hope I can stay famous enough for a little bit so someone rich will marry me. That’s all I really care about these days." — Lily Allen

99 Problems.

2009-01-15T10:43:00.006-05:00

Please don't get it twisted, when I start having babies, I hope I am as awesome a parent as the people I babysit for. I love them with my entire heart, so much so that even when Rose gets to cryin' and will not fucking relax for 12 seconds and grabs a huge chunk of my hair with her weird baby strength and then starts kicking me (like, aggression problems already? really, baby?), I'm not even mad because I don't want her parents to stop letting me come hang out on their couch for 30 hours a week and call it a job, so I'm usually just like, "Okay, baby, please stop resisting the sleep that clearly wants to overtake your tiny body and pinching hurts, so c'mon now," etc etc.

But there are three things that I do not understand about the people that I babysit for.

First of all, this outfit. It's a pink onesie with a yellow sweater (with trucks as the buttons) and a darker pink hat. I cut off the top of the hat, but I feel like you get the idea. It's not pointy, but she still looks like what I would imagine the homeless gnomes would look like on the David the Gnome cartoon. How come we never saw the seedy underbelly of that forest? It was all David cruising around on a bird (don't even get me started on the predator/prey relationship), hanging out in his nice little house with his wife, but there have got to be some rogue gnomes out there, wearing raggedy ass hats, truck button sweaters, existing on a life sustained by drugs and crime. Well, fuck you, Nick Jr., I know the truth because I babysit one. But gnome politics aside, something that I admire Rose's parents for is their general rejection of gender stereotypes. Rose's dad has a new stack of books every week I come over, mostly about how to avoid producing whiny bitch, over-sexualized, materialistic, boy/life-crazy girls. They are the books that the parents who raised the girls on My Super Sweet 16 probs never thought to pick up. They face Rose outward in the Baby-Bjorn because Samuel read once that parents usually face girls inwards and that fosters co-dependence and blah blah blah, moral of the story, Rose will be awesome. If I keep introducing her to shit like the Spice Girls, I think we're going to have a pretty well-rounded lady on our hands. So like, okay, I get the truck buttons, but c'mon. The hat? I guess, coming from a person who intends to dress their babies only in animal costumes until they have to go to pre-school, I should stop criticizing, but it's just what I do.

Secondly, they have no TV. And alright, some people don't watch TV. I guess I will accept that as true because I have to, but I still don't like it. You mean to tell me that you really have NO interest in ANYTHING on TV? You mean to tell me that someone once explained the premise of Flavor of Love to you and you didn't immediately feel compelled to purchase a television and a cable package? I find that very difficult to believe. You're actually only interested in the news you can hear on the radio? And not like, what Tyra Banks is doing? Does not compute. What are we even going to talk about? And I can respect limiting children's time in front of the TV, but not letting them watch TV at ALL!? But... how will they learn social skills? And how to do Elijah Wood's special dance from Yo Gabba Gabba? There are some things that children can only learn from people who are drawn or controlled by puppet strings, sry2say.

Third, and weirdest of all, is that these fine folks have no microwave. This fact literally cannot penetrate and impregnate my brain with meaning. Like... how? It boggles my mind. One time I moved into an apartment that didn't have a microwave for like two weeks and it was a miserable existence. I am not what you would call a "cook." I'm probably whatever the exact opposite of the word "cook" is. If it happens on top of the stove and involves boiling water and step-by-step directions from a box, I can probably handle it, but even then I'm not making any promises. If it has to go into the oven and can't be taken care of in a toaster-oven, I probably have no real interest in it anyway. The only exceptions are Digornio pizza when I'm stoned and cakes for the poor poor boys who are stuck with me as a girlfriend/baked goods giver. Anything that has the potential to cause me bodily harm to make is not worth it. I can make chicken on top of the stove, but sometimes the oil pops up and burns me and so I said "Fuck you, chicken," and have only eaten macaroni and cheese and cereal ever since. My entire diet is made up of carbs. I am really surprised that I'm not 85 lbs heavier than I am. But anyway, about the microwave, I just don't get it. Okay, "health" and "cancer" and stuff but why make your life so much harder than it has to be? Sometimes you just want some popcorn, right? I guess if you don't have a TV (like, you can't even watch movies!) you probably aren't big on the popcorn, but whatever. Wait until Rose can't have EasyMac. You'll be sorry.

But on the real tip, I absolutely love this family. So if by some miracle you're reading this, Samuel and Anne, my b!

The only other things in my life worth mentioning are that I have found my soulmate, and he's a 30 year old blogger from New York (shoot me) and that in six weeks I will be in Berlin with Justina Huddleston. Oh, and Boston blows and I hate everyone. As usual.

A day in the life.

2009-01-13T09:26:00.000-05:00

Back in Boston.

2009-01-11T18:30:00.004-05:00

Lately I've been feeling like it feels when you're (somehow) aware that you're too drunk and you don't know how you got there or how to stop it. But like, all the time. Do you ever just exist for a while and suddenly realize that you have no idea what you're doing?

Home videos.

2008-12-31T11:00:00.006-05:00

A few days ago my sister and I started watching home videos of ourselves when we were little. A lot of negligent behavior on my mom's part has been revealed through these viewings, but she was always interested in at least documenting our existence, if nothing else. The ones from when we were really little are my favorites; I was definitely the cutest and most entertaining, so I'm almost always prominently featured. Also, my dad clearly smoked a lot of pot, and there are lots of fun shots of him videotaping himself in the mirror, or weird close-ups of random objects in the house that he must have thought were really meaningful at the time, but now are just two minutes of wasted tape of a ribbon tied to the top of the banister. So like, thanks for that, I guess, weird kid from American Beauty/dad.

When I'm little, I am the fucking star of the show. I have song and dance routines, I'm cruising in the Barbie corvette, I'm wearing the hottest fashions. My sister chose to communicate only in grunting noises until she was like, 12, and my brother was an angry red-headed demon spawn so no one wanted to film him anyway, so it's not even like I had any competition. It was all me all the time, which I have just realized is probably the foundation for 98% of my current psychological problems, but whatever. The early material is great.

Then something happened. Something TERRIBLE. My mom has always been big on self-expression and letting us do whatever the fuck we felt like as long as it wasn't going to cause bodily harm. Emotional, psychological harm? Well, she didn't really account for that, I guess. And I have always been overflowing with the need to express myself in asinine ways. I bypassed ballet and went straight for the modern dance class, where we basically just rolled around on the floor and pretended to be tree roots. I went to summer "arts" camp where we sat in the woods and made rain sticks and acted out Aesop's fables using only shadow puppets. Like, hello world, here I am. Being an asshole. I was a cheerleader, a tee-ball/softball player, an actress, a writer (wrote my first novel about a mishap at Santa's workshop when I was 7), a dancer, an ~artist~ and please believe I was in All-Elementary Chorus every year you could be. I went to CCD on Wednesdays, confirmed Catholic over here, yessir. I was a busy little kid! And like, whatever, good for me. Now I can blog my way to self-understanding because I'm pretty good at manipulating externalized modes of expression to figure out some personal shit that probably shouldn't be on the internet, but again I say, whatever! I shake my rain stick at the haters.

But there should have been boundaries. My mother should have known that I needed a little more regulation. In what areas?, you might be asking. I will tell you. In the areas of FASHION and HAIR STYLE. What kind of terrible human being allows their child to not only leave the house but be PHOTOGRAPHED on PICTURE DAY wearing some of the shit that I was permitted to wear? As if the BOWL-CUT wasn't bad enough (think Michael Jackson, circa "You Are Not Alone"), when it finally grew out to a length appropriate for a girl's hair to be, then you let me add bangs to it and then PERM IT, mother!? How dare you. Please excuse the terrible quality of the following photo, but I felt compelled to take a picture of a picture in a scrapbook my mom made for me that commemorates this horrendous atrocity of my third grade childhood.

WHAT? The shirt. The fake pearls. The weird collection of bangs on only a portion of my forehead. The CLIP. Oh my fucking God, the clip. Why is my head so big in proportion to the rest of my body? I'm sure it's somehow the fault of the hair, but I cannot seem to put it into thoughts that follow any logic of regular expression. I'm sure I could interpretively dance the shit out of my feelings regarding this photo, but words are not doing them justice. Give me the cardboard tube from a roll of paper towels, some glue and some of those googly eye decorations and you would understand my anguish, but right now, I just can't.

Like, I was so cute. I know these pictures are horribly, miserably blurry because they were also taken from the scrapbook with a digital camera, but like, look how cute.

Oh hey, it's just me being Supergirl! That hairstyle is questionable, but me as a Cowgirl sure makes up for it, right? I was a Cowgirl for Halloween this year and I can promise you, I was not nearly that cute. Nor did I take any pictures using that amazing modeling technique with the banister. I knew I was destined to be on America's Next Top Model. Tyra can't teach me nothin'!

And I can tell you, the progression from fab to drab is evident in the video. I get to third grade and it all starts to go down hill. There are sweat suits (????) and baby-blue metallic shirts with square cut necklines. Purple pants. Uncombed hair. I am just so unsure as to what must have been going through my mom's mind at this point in my fragile history. And why she would continue to videotape children who got so ugly and annoying. I would have killed one or more of us, bathtub "Jesus told me to do it" style. Because I bet if Jesus and my mom had been in contact, he would have counseled her in that exact manner. Luckily, my sister wore only over-sized t-shirts with wolves on them and hiking boots, so I think she would have been the one to go. I mean, at least I was trying to be fashion forward.

Anyway, I now refer to that span of time between third grade and seventh as the "Dark Period." I might burn the tapes while no one is looking, or "accidentally" tape some Judge Mathis over them. That is something to remember for the ages, what Judge Mathis said to the girl who keyed her ex-boyfriend's new baby mama's car, not the time I cut my own bangs and my mom sent me to school anyway.

What a traumatizing childhood.

It's probably time to reflect.

2008-12-29T20:31:00.007-05:00

Well was a tiny little city near the German border with one major road equipped with a restaurant, a grocery store, a bakery, a bike store, a general convenience store and a bar. In the woods on the other side of the main road were sand dunes, but you had to walk in the woods for what felt like miles before you got there. On our last night, we had a bonfire there, and someone brought the Residence Life acoustic guitar, but it snapped when someone stepped on it so they just threw it into the flames and I bet you could see the smoke from the tower of the Castle where we lived.

Dream Boyfriend Alert!

2008-12-26T21:32:00.007-05:00

I hated Garden State. I have never been presented with a character that I wanted to backhand harder than Natalie Portman's Manic Pixie Dream Girl. That statement is untrue (hello, Samwise Gangee), but the sentiment is valid. I tolerated Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine because she's Kate Winslet (and Eternal Sunshine was bomb!) and I accept Kate Hudson in Almost Famous because all of those slutty star-fucking bitches were out of their minds, but the rest of these one dimensional, infuriatingly flighty and non-committal cunts can suck.a.dick. Most notably, Natalie Portman, who I do not dislike but don't exactly loooooove, either. Kristen Bell is my American sweetheart, thank you very much, so keep it moving, sister. Like, who would actually want a relationship with one of these people? You might think that you do, but you don't. Unless you are retarded and horrible and everyone hates you.

But NO ONE could hate Matthew Lillard. He is on a list that I keep in my brain of ultimate dream boyfriends. Johnny Depp is the most attractive man on the planet, no doubt about it, but he is not an ultimate dream boyfriend. He is too pretty. He would ruin my life, I know it. Zac Efron, Leonardo Dicaprio: NOT dream boyfriends. Dream sex partners, perhaps. Dream boyfriends, no. My ultimate dream boyfriends are celebrities (duh) who are manageabley dreamy and who would probably get my jokes. They are, in no particular order,

Matthew Lillard
Patrick Fugit
Jason Schwartzman
Daniel Radcliffe/Rupert Grint
Elijah Wood
Vincent Kartheiser (from Mad Men)
Neil Patrick Harris (sans the homosexuality)
Jason Dohring (sans Scientology)
John Cusack (circa Say Anything)
Seth Green
and Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Like, imagine our dates. BRB, imagining our dates.

But anyway, Matthew Lillard is such a cute little guy and I would offer up the lives of at least a dozen puppies to be little spoon to his big spoon. For that reason, I will support this movie, even if it means having to sit through that annoying bitch from the first season of Heroes (strike one) as a MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL (maximum strike capacity reached). But then it strikes (ha!) me as odd that I have so much contempt for these enraging female characters, but their male counterparts, all suffering from either Aspergers or some other mild form of retardation, warm my heart and loins? I think it has more to do with how my loins feel about the actors in different contexts (which is why Ryan Gosling skated by after fucking a blow up doll, yet I will never watch an episode of Scrubs for as long as I live), but still. Every time I see Natalie Portman, despite the fact that I've seen her in quite a few things after Garden State, I still have to resist the urge to automatically hate her. I am the worst quasi-feminist ever!

So I hope this movie is good, and I hope writers and filmmakers begin to create legitimate and likable female romantic interests. While watching this trailer I had three major thoughts: 1) Fuck that girl from Heroes, 2) Yay, Matthew Lillard and 3) I fucking HATE people who are bad at cuddling and spooning. Some people are just too... drapey. Like, get your dead weight limbs off of me, sir! I don't mind an arm or leg, but let's try to keep the entirety of your body weight on your side, please. And I like to be held, but what is this vice-like death grip you are holding me in? A girl's got to reposition once in a while! I once slept next to a boy who, when I tried to roll over, flexed his muscles, yanked me back into position and murmured "No," before going back to sleep. Um, sorry, Sheriff of Sleeptown, you are not the boss of me! I sleep where I want! Once I move, you are welcome (nay, expected) to follow me, but give me a moment, damn. Then there are the violent bed mates. Once a boy just laid on top of me. Like, rolled over and did not end his quest to keep moving once reaching the obstacle of my body. Just kept on keepin' on and laid on top of me. That is an epic cuddling FAIL. Oh, and me falling asleep on your chest is sure to end in three undesirable ways: I am going to drool on you, get a crick in my neck and you are going to snore. So... let's not. Unless you're Matthew Lillard, then you're calling the shots.

2008-12-26T21:22:00.001-05:00

I have no idea how I've gone this long, just living my (empty) life, without having seen this video.

The Hills: Reality TV at its finest

2008-12-23T18:20:00.004-05:00

I don't care what it says about my personality, integrity or character, the season finale of The Hills warmed my heart. Lauren and Heidi, BFFLs 4E.

I'm unsure how the show is actually successful. It stars Lauren Conrad, the boyfriend stealer from Laguna Beach turned moral authority of Los Angeles. She and her gang of friends, Googly-Eyed Audrina, Ice-Bitch Lo Bosworth (my all time favorite Laguna alum, for the record), and Pratt-Spawn Stephanie (whose face looks like its composed of haphazardly assembled pieces of felt? I don't know, she's what I would expect a felt Gumby to look like if I were on LSD) prance around southern California, having staged run-ins with their arch nemeses and sometimes friendsies, Spencer and Heidi. Heidi, who is single handedly keeping the plastic surgery biz running and Spencer, who has what appears to be pubic hair shooting from the lower half of his face, forming what I GUESS is supposed to be a lumberjack beard. Throw in some appearances by manwhore/sometimes Lauren Conrad romantic interest Brody Jenner and whatever his fat best friend's name is (Frankie?), a scene or two of Justin-Bobby looking grungy as fuck and blatantly disrespecting/cheating on his girlfriend Audrina, and you've got yourself a regular episode of The Hills. A show that takes all of the awkward pauses from The Office but removes all the funny stuff before and after them. A show that exists on the (often non-expressive) mugging of the weirdest looking cast of characters on TV. People (including the cast) say that all of their interactions are staged for the cameras, but I have a seriously difficult time believing that, because if I knew I was being filmed and had ample "do-over" time, I would be saying some profound shit! And if not profound, at least like, high school educated intelligent. At least GED recipient intelligent. Right?

But for whatever reason, like Laguna Beach before it, I am all about this show. It's like letting your brain take a vacation for a half hour every week. I am to blame for the unbelievable fame of these people who are rich for existing. They do very little beyond simply living and breathing in front of a camera and they are rich and famous for it. I take responsibility for this. I accept it. Be mad at me if you want, but you might as well embrace it.

Anyway, so I like it, and it's on TV, and that poor Heidi Montag. She is literally retarded. She thinks she's manipulating her situation and tricking us all into feeling sorry for her and feeding into her fame, but like, no bitch. We don't feel sorry for you because of the situation you have constructed with your "husband" Spencer, we feel sorry for you because of the transparency of your mental deficiency. You are on the Britney Spears route to conservatorship, girl. Spencer Pratt, meet Kevin Federline, you are him. Lauren Conrad is Heidi Montag's JTimbs. Just record a fucking song with her, Justin! Give her another chance, Justin! So she fucked Wade Robson, can't you see she's sick? You'd have to be sick to fuck Wade Robson! Have a heart, Justin! Well, that's you, Lauren Conrad. Take care of that retarded bitch, please. For the sake of the rest of us.

And I love that Lo is just straight chillin'. Her life seems so minimally productive, but she gets to live in Lauren's sick house and talk shit on Heidi all day and go to parties. AND she's the only one who legitimately went to college. Way to put that education to use, Lo. Ugh, someone hook me up with a reality TV star friend. Fuck Teach for America. This is the life I need to lead.

So the season finale saw the long awaited reunion of Heidi and Lauren, and as much as I have iced these girls out of my heart (I prefer to keep them in the detached, shit-talking section of my brain), I have to say, this did it to me. I was really tempted for like, 15 seconds, to try to Facebook Katie Lambert and tell her that I forgive her for being such a cunt for the majority of our young adult lives. And Katie Lambert was a BITCH, so for MTV to unthaw that hardened ventricle of my heart was an accomplishment. It made me totally forget about what I know to be these people's real personalities and I accepted their existence solely in the fictionalized universe of their TV show. And then I remembered what they were really like, and didn't care until I started writing about how ugly they are. That is either a testament to this show, or to the fact that I am a terrible person. Either way, whatever man. Long live reality television.