name: amber
age: 22
location: new orleans
aim: sapgirly mail work
November 30, 2002
So my guestbook returned after an unexpected absence but, alas, I don't think I will continue to have a link to it, seeing as I have six entries and the latest was made in January of this year. The little Comment[0]'s are good enough for me.
And I love40 Years, admittedly mostly because of the beat and whatnot and not the lyrics but I don't think the lyrics are bad at all.
In other news, I don't think Bruff is open today. There's maybe 100 kids on campus, total, if that. Probably not that many. I'm eating pretzels right now because I've so far been too lazy to get up and make Ramen. I love being home but right now it's kind of lonely-like. None of my favourite people are here and there's no hot food. Boo-hoo.
So since I don't have anything cool to say right now, I'll just type out something I wrote by hand ::gasp:: on the way to my parents' house. Some of it's edited because I can't just say "what the fuck." See, thing is, I don't care if he knows but I hate feeling stupid:
New Orleans International Airport November 22 4:25 pm
Something about airports ... I can't even describe it, exactly. It has something to do with so many lives converging at one point -- so many different kinds of people packaged into one little place: Los Angeles, Omaha, New Orleans, Baltimore, Madrid, Beijing. I always feel like writing a poem when I travel. Just moving so far -- it's so romantic and wild and reckless. Traveling by myself always gives me a feeling like I have no control. I put myself in someone else's hands -- whether or not I get home. That's how it is -- I have to have a way to get home.
I'm listening to Weezer's Blue Album right now. I know this isn't the most soulful music -- it's mostly very catchy unrequited love but the point is -- it reminds me of things I've done and things I've felt.
Being here reminds me very much of Joey. He sat in one of these gates and fought back tears as he waited to fly away from me. He could have been in this very seat, looking out this window, crazy in love with me. How quickly things change. (edit, because it's too embarassing)
All these things just boil in my head, keep me up at night and I'm dying to be a Counting Crows song. I've never been grateful for the things I have while I have them. Even with Joey -- how do I so easily forget those times when I thought I couldn't do this, when I felt "weird?"
What I want, more than anything, is to open the door to him and look into his face and feel nothing. (edit, because it's not written well)
I find something essentially sad about airports. Leaving, going home ... they all seem so desperate. Flying at something instead of settling down. Even myself, flying home. Flying to where I belong, if I belong there. If I belong anywhere. Maybe it's because everybody looks so tired, so spent. People relieved to be going home. People weary of the journey ahead. (edit because it's gay)
"I wish for all the world that I could say 'hey Elisabeth, you know, I'm doing alright these days.'" How sad is that? How true. if only you could just get up over it. I hate that this still matters to me -- sure, less than I ever thought it would but so much that I can't do things like a normal person. (I have no idea what I was talking about there.) I'm not over him. Fuck. But I will be. As soon as I realize that I don't need someone to make me beautiful. I will be beautiful when it matters. --ANL (5:10)
I always get sad in airports. I guess that's just how it is. Maybe all that stuff I said is only because I am tired. I don't know. See I wrote all this before he read my blog. I can't stand him thinking that he's consuming my life or something. Of course, I talk about him quite a lot but that's because it makes for the most interesting posts. Well, sometimes. But then, hours before I read his stupid little email, I wrote this (sorry about this huge post, anyone reading it:)
November 27 -- am. Home or Other, Depending
Of course I want to hurt him. Michelle is so right. I want to be someone completely different from the person he knew -- but I want to be better. I want it to look as though he was blocking my sun and now I've really bloomed. I've become someone so much better, someone he wants so much more and now it's too late; he can't have me. I want him to want me so bad. I want him to beg. I want him to get down on his knees and then I'll tell him no. Honestly, I don't want to be with him -- I just want to be in love and loved again. I want to skip all the horse shit and fall into someone's arms and forget. I don't know what I want. Or maybe a better way to put that is I don't know how to get the things I think I want. -- ANL
Yeah, so it's all about revenge but I can handle that. Anger is a really simple emotion to deal with and harness, even. Goddamnit, it's Ramen time.
You know, the more I read Adam's blog, the less I like him as a person. Not that I know him as a person, but from listening to four of his records and having been to two of his concerts and having read a million interviews and song interpretations and unreleased, rare songs and all that crap, I'd developed a personality that I would have attributed to him. Of course I know that I would be wrong but it gets set up nonetheless. But see here, in his blog, he's mean and not eloquent at all and I'd think he would write like he writes and he doesn't. And he spells "Broncos" Bronco's. That kills me. He's two credits away from being an English major. It's like my hero... is fallen.
I can't wait to get back to the dorm. I never thought I would say that but here it is. Not only am I bored but these cats and dogs have my sinuses working overtime so bad. I think I have a sinus infection. Being sick and eating a ton of food is not fun at all (of course there's still room for cheesecake, who do you think I am?)
I dyed my hair red. Okay, yeah, it's like Angela Chase's from My So-Called Life but who cares? She was my inspiration; I'm not copying her.
And I probably shouldn't have said all that stuff to Joey. What I mean is, I shouldn't have said all that stuff to Joey. I should have written it down and saved it and sent him something short along the lines of "just mail the damn pictures." I piss myself off so bad ... telling him everything as though he cared anymore. Grr.
I'm so glad to be flying back tonight, as odd as that sounds. It's an eight-hour trip or something and that doesn't count sitting around in the airport beforehand or the drives but it will be good to get into my little dorm bed with my three duffelbags worth of junk and just ... chill (and not sneeze and not have to watch game shows. Goddamn, shoot me now.) I get the room to myself for two days so that should be lonely but I'll deal. Apparently, quite a few other people are still here so I'll prop my door open and chill with the refugees.
Happy Thanksgiving, all!
So ... freaking ... Joey read my blog. It's a damn good thing he read it now as opposed to ... say ... three weeks ago but he still has no right. I mean, this is public domain but he should know that the shit I put up here is private as fuck. I only share it with strangers because I have no emotional attachment to them. I never, ever give this site out to friends. I never give it out to people that matter to me. The friendships I generate from posting to this website are of a different kind -- people that have known my really deep secrets from the beginning -- people that don't get to know me. They already know me. That's the very nature of online journals. It makes me genuinely angry to know that he would go and read the entire fucking thing. He reads through shit about him all the way down to the end where he reads through some really mean shit about him.
Am I so strange to be thinking about him every day? Am I so messed up? Honestly -- I ask a lot of questions here but I want an answer to this one. I mean it. Is it a girl thing not to get over the person that leaves you or is it that whoever does the leaving moves on so much better?
I'd love to post his letter but I guess that is a bit over the line. So I'll post my reply. It's long:
Alright--
So my initial reaction, of course, was "oh, Christ." I'm not going to apologize and I'm not sure whether or not I owe you an explanation but I'll give you one anyway:
We used to argue about this, didn't we, how you couldn't share anything personal with anyone (writing-wise) and I preferred to? My blog is not just some editorial where I talk about books and movies and junk. It is, quite literally, my journal. I've said lots of things that are a lot more enraging, a lot more embarassing... It's what I do. I even talked about this in part of what you read (if you read the whole thing -- I'm assuming since the part about when you IM'ed me is all the way at the bottom) -- I don't keep anything inside, not when I write. You knew (and I want to put "goddamned well" in here and that makes it seem that I'm very angry and I'm not but it would sound better) that you should not be reading my blog. As much as it's online and public domain, it's almost as private as it gets for me. I have never given my site out to friends. I never gave it to you. It's not meant to be something I share with the people I'm talking about.
So, yeah. Honestly, I have been mad at you. I've been mad at you ever since I quit crying. And no, I don't think you realize how much you hurt me. If you did, this would not come as a shock to you. I think it's human nature to want to strike back at the person that strikes at you. And no, I know you didn't break up with me to hurt me but that's how it turned out. And just because I talk about hurting you doesn't mean I had intentions of ever doing so. But in my defense, Phil told me that Michelle is trying her darndest to become totally different from the girl Billy knew, so I argue that maybe it's a girl thing. It always is, isn't it? And it seems to me that a lot of the time there's one person totally torn up by the end of a relationship and another that's just fine, so I'm not too worried about me being messed up right now. According to everyone I've talked with, it's completely normal. And so maybe I'm a little bitter. Maybe I'm very bitter. But so what? I think I'm entitled.
Why is this so much easier for you? Probably because you got rid of me. I wish I could just forget about you. I don't know; it's not that easy. Yeah. I think about you every day. I don't want you to "take me back" or anything. I can see now that we wouldn't have been happy together, even if we had moved back and gotten married (which seems completely ridiculous now). That's not it. But then again, I talked about all this in my blog. And I don't care if you read it, as long as you don't tell me about it. As long as I don't know whether or not you're reading it, I'll go off the assumption that you aren't. (And as a side note -- be happy you didn't look at it earlier.)
::sigh:: I guess it's hard to explain. I've kind of deconstructed our relationship in my mind, like, sorting. I put all the good stuff in one place and all the bad stuff in another and (this probably won't make any sense) you have to go in the bad pile because it's a million times easier that way. I end up thinking about the bad stuff more because that's what works. I don't hate you or anything but I am mad at you -- not just for leaving me but for making me believe so many comfortable things and then leaving me. And maybe it is just because you were my first boyfriend and they always say 'yadda yadda you never forget your first love.'
So I guess I'm not over you. I probably shouldn't be telling you half the stuff in this email but if we were going to be friends, you'd kind of need to know it anyway. And like I said, and I mean it, I don't want to get back together. I just haven't totally dealt with "the pain." (Now I'm trying not to be dramatic). At first it hurt all at once and now it's subtle, behind the scenes. It shows up when you IM me and I end up cursing at the monitor while typing "i'm sorry." (And as yet another side note -- no, I did not think it was fair that you just showed up and wanted to talk to me about your anxiety. If you don't want to talk to me it's not alright just to pop up one day and want to have a chat about how down you are. When you break up with someone there's supposed to be an understanding that you don't lean on each other anymore. -- I know at first I was completely this way but I excuse that because about that whole first week I had no mind. And as long as I'm on the subject, I also didn't think it was very fair that you just say "i'm sorry for any hurt i caused you" because the hurt you caused me is a lot bigger than that apology and I didn't ever expect you to apologize because it couldn't be helped if you were going to get rid of me. It was either hurt me or stay and I understand that.)
I've been writing this thing for a really long time. I don't know whether or not you expected a long answer but I'm giving you one because I definitely get the feeling I may not talk to you again for a long while and, also, I guess you don't necessarily need to know these things but if you still care about me a little (dramatic, sorry) you'd be interested in how I'm doing. As for our chances in a friendship, I'd say right now they're pretty weak. I'm still too emotional about you. I don't get worked up about my friendship with Liezl or Phil. That's to be expected though -- we have a short but compact history.
In all honesty, we couldn't be friends right now. Not real friends. It would be weird between us and I have all these things going on inside my head that I don't know when they'll get worked out but ...eventually? I don't know. Maybe in a year.
The reason I was excited to see you is because I wanted to look into your eyes and feel nothing. I wanted reassurance that I was over you -- that you couldn't touch me anymore. I wanted to give you a hug and know I'm not in love with you. It's hard to be sure otherwise. It's hard to be sure I'm not holding onto this just because it's something to feel -- or a point to move from. So yeah, I'd still very much like to see you (minus the hug now, I'm assuming) but now you know why. I want very much (and maybe a little desperately) to believe that you don't affect me anymore, at least, not any more than anyone else. I ...don't want to make this decision and I don't have to because you're the one coming here. Like I said, you don't even have to drive all the way over here. You can put the stupid pictures in an envelope and mail them to me. You don't ever have to see me again if you don't want to. I'm sure this letter will be taken absolutely the opposite of the way I want it to -- my little emails always have in the past but ... here it is. Everything, really. This is the way I am and you should have figured that out -- after it matters (or before it matters), I just lay it all out. This is who I am, what I'm thinking and how it feels. Bottom line: it's all truth. So whichever way you want to take it -- there it is.
Amber.
(M.R. Box 3878
64 Newcomb Place
New Orleans, LA 70118), if you so choose
By the way, as much as I give out all my emotions and hidden motivations and whatnot, you should know that if you say something horribly mean it's going to hurt. And if anything in this email was injurous to you, then I apologize for saying it because I, of course, realize that I needn't have said the majority of what I just said but I don't apologize for actually feeling or doing any of the things I talked about because I do feel entitled and I'm just being honest and, obviously, you can handle it. Alright, I'm done.
Somewhere along the line, I became Angela Chase. I don't know when it happened but it did. For a long time, I thought that the writers were correct in their judgement and portrayal of adolescence but now I'm thinking ... I watched that show when I was a kid, before I was an adolescent. Did I become Angela? I think I might have. I thinnk I might have thought she was cool and now I'm messed up and introverted and all that crap.
I can remember times in my life when I have felt beautiful. I'm always thinking I need someone to make me beautiful. How ridiculous is that? But it ends up working out. You can believe yourself to be beautiful but if no one else thinks so...then aren't you really ugly? I was so pretty in Mexico. I was pretty when I was with Joey. I was pretty when the kids in my brother's auto tech class were trying (hilariously) to flirt with me yesterday. But I wake up today after having slept for 14 hours and I'm not very pretty. Angela Chase says we're all in a prison and the crime is how much we hate ourselves. Maybe I would have ended up Angela Chase whether or not they wrote this show. Maybe if I never saw it in the first place I would still be her. Maybe.
So I head on into beautiful Antioch, California, to find my fortune in dog-eared books and used men's trousers.
(And why do I care? Why do I sign onto AOL to see if he's there? What's wrong with me? The whole Joey thing seems so long ago, so distant. What am I going to do when he shows up at my house? -- By the way, I'm totally talking about two different guys in that series of questions -- I need to hurry up and become a psychiatrist so I can diagnose myself.)
I went "clubbing" last night for the first time. I didn't look very hot. First of all, my entire makeup collection is in New Orleans. Also, all my clothes that I might possibly wear and of course shoes. So I was all up in that joint in pink pumas, baggy dress pants and this shirt that is way too tight for me but what the hell, I've lost hell of weight (10 over the summer and 5 since I've been in school -- this is all, mind you, from not eating at my parents' house -- I never ever work out. I hate it too much for it to be worth the effort). In any case, it was really gay. Despite the fact that Liezl was the only girl I knew in our little group, these girls I hung out with were really nice. I felt comfortable around them. The whole time, though, you're looking around the room and most of the guys are not hot but when you do spot a hot one, you think "I wish I was dancing with a guy" and then the minute somebody grabs you, even if they're somewhat attractive, you wish you were dancing alone. I mentioned this out loud and Liezl's friend Stephanie totally agreed with me. It's so nice to know you're not a freak sometimes. As much as I enjoy my individuality, it's necessary for me that these things I'm feeling not be exclusive to myself. That's where friends come in, right? They share your opinions on stuff like that.
I wish I had more to do here. What did I ever do before I came to college? And I swear that college is so boring but it's a lot better than being here, I mean...there's stuff to do a lot of the time. There's movies on Friday and Saturday nights, lectures on almost every day of the week -- people to visit. I can always walk around and talk to somebody just most of the time I don't. Right now I'd probably be making popcorn and hot cocoa and watching a movie with Jessie. But my mom's in the living room watching some stupid biopic on something or other and I no longer have a TV in my room. I could read or something but...blah. I'm not the least bit tired, either. What am I going to do the rest of tonight? I went to go see if I could beat the pinball scores and the lowest high school is over 10 million points. Mine on my laptop is 5 million. At least the record's held by myself, at 17 million. I need to work on my pinball skills and give Spider Solitaire a rest.
I am home. This post is two hours earlier than it says at the bottom. It's 9:21 am right now.
There's certain things I always expect from my family, time and time again, making the same damn mistake, and they never freaking deliver. Normal things -- things any family should do for one of their own, like: going to plays I'm in, picking me up from the airport on time, making my bed. In fact, I left my bed made from the last time I was here and unless there's someone else sleeping in those sheets, I wouldn't mind that they hadn't been washed in two months. But no, she took the sheets off, washed them and then left them in the towel cabinet just so that I could get home and not have a bed ready for me. It's a lot of little things, too. They didn't ask if I was hungry. I spent 7 hours traveling yesterday and they don't even think of that. Are my expectations of my parents too high? It's not just my parents, though; my brother was supposed to drive my car and get night time practice in but instead he didn't come and just went to sleep. I still haven't seen him. I feel the love.
In any case, it's strange being home. All the things I'm used to about the dorm are different. Example: toilet paper. This double-ply stuff is unusually soft and I get the feeling that it's not really doing anything. How ridiculous is that? Another is this keyboard. I haven't typed on a regular keyboard in so long. It is taking me much longer to type and I am making quite a few mistakes (most of which, I hope, I've caught). Also, doors. I'm used to the doors of Sharp, which are heavy because, despite the fact that they are the only doors in our room, they are our front doors and therefore need to keep bad people out. They require some effort to open. Here, I feel like I'm going to fall into the room I'm attempting to enter.
But a lot of things are still the same, surprisingly so. The fridge is still empty. There's still a pile of unopened mail on the counter. The dogs are just as I left them -- they're actually prettier now. I don't know how that happened. Most of the stuff is still here and where it was before. There's less mildew in the shower but it looks worse. This computer is fried. It's two years old and it runs like it's got all the time in the world. Thank heaven I have my own little laptop.
I'm already bored here. I'm often bored in the dorms but normally there is something to do, I'm just too lazy to do it. Here, I've got the televis--wait! Oh my christ! I forgot all about extended cable. I can watch movies all day long. Yeah, it's out to the couch I go. Actually, I'll probably drive around quite a bit today, revisit all my old places. There's nobody home yet so I don't have anyone to hang out with, but I can see everything. I can go to Target and Little Manuels and the mall and my park and all those cute little places that make a town your town. And good Lord, let's not forget about thrift shopping. (Yaaaay!)
It was very hard being in the back of Elliot's truck last night. That's where I was for 5 days with Joey, driving halfway across the country. There's something about traveling with another person -- it makes a bond between you. Joey and I had to split all those states. I don't get any of them for my own. Next time I go to Albuquerque, Oklahoma City, Memphis, I'll think of him.
He's "busy" this break so I won't see much of him. He said he'd come by and drop off some pictures from our trip I've been wanting to see. I cried a couple tears for him last night. It's hard to walk the same path you have a million times but now be alone. I'm alright, though. It's not Joey I want. For that matter, it's not Ben or Gabriel Sloan. Those are places for me to stick my head and pretend everything's okay. I should not be having romantic interests right now. What I need are good friends.
Something weird about going home...comforting. The thought of real food and real people...people I know and trust and all that good stuff. I can never figure out exactly how I'm supposed to feel towards my family as opposed to the way I actually feel. I've always been much closer to my brother than any other member of my family and certain friends I really like but don't necessarily trust. I wonder if I will always feel this good about going home. Perhaps not. I've only been away a few months but it's nice to have someplace to go home to. I'm excited about leaving tomorrow. Yay. I get to see my people, if only for a minute, but I get to shower without flip-flops and take a bath and eat real vegetables and walk around naked.
I get so ridiculous about guys. I really need to stop worrying. It's so crazy, really. I'm exactly the same way I was in the freakin' seventh grade. Some people grow up and learn from their experiences and others keep on truckin' through shit that does not work. I can't wait to get home and read my old diaries and look at how messed up I was and how much I haven't fixed it at all.
So I downloaded Y Tu Mama Tambien off the internet and it doesn't have any subtitles. I've been taking Spanish for going on six years now and I can't understand a goddamned word. Good thing I've seen it before. Yesss, soft-core film-quality porn is mine!
I'm so desperate for attention. It's absolutely ridiculous. Sometimes I catch myself saying, "I don't even know what I want," but it's totally not true. I know exactly what I want and it's completely selfish (like every basic need) and that's for someone to pay attention to me, to think I'm cool and I go looking for it in places that I had left behind and find it where I don't deserve it. But still, I get home and silently curse the answering machine. So there's a point when you give up on something in theory but you just go right on hoping despite your sensibilites -- against your better judgement. What's better judgement when you've got a one in a million chance?
I'm nearing my 200th game of Spider Solitaire. My average is 16%. I suck. Because of this, I am planning on taking 21 hours next semester as opposed to my 14 current.
I have had Recovering the Satellites in my Cd player for several days now. There's two reasons for this: 1. I can't think of anything better to play. 2. I'm too lazy to change it. But it makes me think of when I first really started to love this stuff. I remember it very well. For a long time, I had liked August and Everything After (I'm talking about Counting Crows for all y'all that don't know) and I don't know where I got that Cd or when but I'd like it for a long time. This was after This Desert Life came out. I wasn't very familiar with Recovering the Satellites but I knew the two that sandwiched it. I took all three of them with me on my trip to Cabo San Lucas that summer (two years ago). Almost that entire week, I spent on the balcony, wet from the humidity (we had an incredible ocean-side apartment-type thing -- timeshare), reading and listening to music. I played this Cd early on and then it was straight Counting Crows all the way through the rest of the vacation. My brother sat inside and watched television and I read and read and read. That was a strange vacation for me. All I did was look at the ocean, listen to Counting Crows and read. I'd love to go back.
God, I've just been incoherently babbling all over this thing lately. What a terrible sedative loneliness is. Sometimes I get in these moods where I just have to talk to a guy. Maybe it's a pheremone thing or something. But then certain people always put me in a good mood. I think it's more like an attention thing. That's part of Maslow's heirarchy of needs (for any of you that have taken philosophy/psychology), by the way. It's a basic need, love. That's what I miss when I miss being in a relationship. Joey? I don't really miss Joey. I feel like I should talk with him because we were so close and maybe we can salvage that friendship...maybe. I don't know, though. I still don't think he realizes how much he hurt me and now to tell him would be admitting defeat, admitting the amount of power he had over me.
I was supposed to watch the meteor shower last night but it rained. It would have been fun getting up at 4 in the morning to look at the stars, though. I haven't done something like that in a long time. College holds a lot of adventures but they're all so...grown-up. I was supposed to play tag with friends the other day at 11 at night but it started raining (trend). Mostly it's getting drunk and seeing where the night (or that hot guy) takes you. It's not playful anymore, it's risky and scary and immoral but you do it anyway because everybody else is. Well, you pretend you're not doing it because of that but you are. And you always end up wishing it had turned out another way. Or at least, I do. I suppose I am a child of regret more than anything else, which I know is a terrible thing but it's in my nature:
"A scorpion wants to cross the river. But he can't swim. He goes to a frog, who can. He asks for a ride. Frog says, 'If I give you a ride on my back, you'll go and sting me.' The scorpion says, 'It won't be in my interest to sting you, since I'll be on your back and we'll both drown.' The frog thinks it over and accepts the deal, takes the scorpion on his back, braves the waters. Halfway over feels a burning spear in his side, and realizes the scorpion has stung him after all and as they both sink beneath the waves, the frog cries out --'Why did you sting me, Mr. Scorpion?! So now we both will drown!' The scorpion replies, 'I can't help it. It's in my nature.'" -- The Crying Game
How come nobody told me that college was going to be mostly waiting for the next thing to happen ... like time to pass so I can go to bed, or for that boy to call or for my friends to quit watching football so they can play a board game with me?
It's some complicated and messed-up shit that happened between my ex and I. (You know, I've never really had an ex before. I had a quasi-relationship with this guy Matt way back when -- a guy who obviously had interest in me and then I let him hook up with me one night when I was drunk. Was it a mistake? Well, it got a lot of things out of the way -- my first times, I mean.) Anyway, my ex-boyfriend is really dramatic. I'm a much mellower and realistic person than he is. I was talking with my friend Phil about him today. I said I thought I was better off not being with him and she told me not to kick her, but that she agreed. I'm very curious and actually somewhat excited to see him again. It's been so long. Actually, it's only been two months but it seems like ages. It feels like years ago that we were together. I can't hardly remember what he looks like. I can't hardly remember what it felt like to be in his arms. This gives me tremendous amounts of joy -- that I didn't need him after all and was only kidding myself. I was very surprised to find I could have the same exact feeling if I was with the right guy and drunk enough. So I've been wanting to talk to this guy forever (a whole week. ha.) and it just kills me that he's not worried about it. I suppose I'm probably the ridiculous one -- foolish enough to believe that what I felt had anything to do with the guy as opposed to the amount of liquor I had consumed. And maybe all that shit he said is stuff he always says to girls to make them want to mess around with him. Maybe. I've always been so bad at judging this type of thing. I didn't even correctly judge Joey. My tactic (ha) is always to just throw down my cards right away -- this is what I am and who I am and the things I do and the stuff I like and here's my problems, right there. Anyone that stays around knows me for me and isn't thinking I'm something I'm not. Only they don't stick around very often. Most of the time they don't look back. (Look, that was mindless and self-indulgent. I'm back in form. I'm also bored out of my mind. "God, we're so fucked up, you and me." --Recovering the Satellites)
Okay, turn that shitty music off, go here and watch every damn one of their "media files," but make sure not to miss the AOL Commercial, Bang Bang Bang, Daler Mehndi (Tunak Tunak Tun) and PokeBitches. "My eight year old daughter was able to order a double-headed anal probe from comefuckmenow.com."
I have no problem with guys scratching their nuts. What I do have a problem with is their complete blatancy when in the act. I walked by a guy today with his hand actually in his pants. Guys have been introduced to me, scratching their balls and they put out their hand to shake, as though I hadn't just seen them. It's as though certain guys believe they are invisible when scratching away or that girls somehow do not notice this behaviour for what it is.
And I think it's not so much that being drunk is like being in love but that being in love is like being drunk: it feels the same and you have exactly the same amount of judgement, the same amount of control. Or maybe I can love anybody, even if it's only for one night. I can love anybody, but not you. And yes, I'm still tripping off this a week later. This is all new to me.
Yay, my site's back! Now I can continue to spout mindless, self-indulgent pap while under the guise of being poetic and meaningful (hard to do when your page looks like shit -- trust me).
Look at this. I wrote it as the autobiography for Livejournal when I had one. I actually never wrote a single entry but I do have an account, if any of you guys want one. Apparently you have to pay now if you don't know someone? In any case, my old and new self come together. I think this rocks:
"Faith in the impossible is ignorance. Faith in the improbable is my daily life. Somewhere between bliss and depression lies: me."
My night was so boring. I'm definitely ready to crawl into bed and go to sleep. I called the guy I've been wanting to call and he didn't sound like he didn't want to talk to me. It was a "you call me or I'll call you" kind of thing tonight and I didn't call -- wait, I did call at 11 -- but I didn't hear from him. It's all good though because tonight was so so so so slow. Hopefully tomorrow will be a lot better.
I talked with Gabriel Sloan. We'd swear nothing happened between the last time we talked -- well over a month ago. If he wasn't so baked, I could have had an actual conversation with him ...maybe. I wouldn't necessarily say I miss Gabriel Sloan but I think we would be very good friends if we tried it and he didn't condescend. But I told him to his face (when I was drunk): "You're condescending." So maybe he got the point. I'm putting myself to bed now.
When I believed in God (in the Judeo-Christian sense of the word), I found this very comforting. It was printed on a blanket my neighbour had and I would read it every time I went over to her house:
One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand: one belonging to him, and the other to the Lord. When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life. This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it: "Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me." The Lord replied: "My son, my precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."
Y'all that still believe should like that one. You've probably seen it before, too, but the good Lord knows we could always use a little more.
Ahh, so happy; such a child. So maybe I was right about this one thing about this one person this one time. Yay.
In other news, it's always the wrong boy that calls and Joey IM'ed me today with the intention of dumping all his problems on me and I let him because it don't bother me no more. How many times in a conversation can one say "i'm sorry" before it gets terribly old / he understands that maybe I don't really mean it? Excuse me, now I have to write a skit in Spanish about peanut butter, jelly and pirates.
I'm such a baby. I'm starting to wonder (hell, I've been wondering) if perhaps some of this stuff is permanent. I mean, I was this same exact way about guys before, but I was never waiting for them to call, I was waiting to see them or (heaven forbid) have one of them talk to me. I've always been so nervous around guys I found attractive or might have liked even a little that I get all quiet and they think I'm horribly boring (which I may or may not be but I assure you, I'm not nearly as boring as I am around attractive guys). It's not even that I like this guy. I don't even know this guy. But, I had a good time with him and I think if we hung out more, we would continue to have a good time so it plagues me that he hasn't called. I'm being the biggest baby and I know it and I tell myself that I don't even know this guy and really shouldn't care if he calls but I still do and goddamn me for it.
::sigh::
Post Spanish, pre Psych Magic 8 Ball test (the first half are true, the last half false):
Do you still have bubbles in you? "Signs point to yes."
Did I see Weezer over the summer? "My reply is no."
Did I eat popcorn last night? "You may rely on it."
Was there a message on our machine today? "It is decidely so."
Did I take a bio test today? "My reply is no."
Has Jessie sent her friend Calla her package yet? "Outlook good."
Have I taken any pictures today? "It is certain."
Are my nails painted? "Yes."
Do I have a chem test tomorrow? "Without a doubt."
Did I jump out the window today? "It is certain."
Survey says ... right: 3 wrong: 7. Well, shit. That was a terrible trial. Let's add up our totals: right: 15 wrong: 15. So...the Magic 8 Ball only gives you the right answer half the time. But it's a solid half. A really solid half.
And I want to receive a phone call. Yoni says you can't expect guys to call right away. He said he's got numbers from weeks ago. That's just wrong. How do you not get around to calling? ::sigh::
Okay, post chem lab, pre studying for bio 8 Ball test:
Do I have a brother named Jeremy? "Outlook good."
Do I have a brother named Brian? "Concentrate and ask again" -- Twice. "Outlook not so good."
Is the sky blue? "Without a doubt."
Is the sky orange? "Concentrate and ask again." "Don't count on it."
Is my roommate's name Jessie? "Yes."
Do I have four roommates? "Very doubtful."
Have I received any email today? "Very doubtful."
Have I received any phone calls today? "It is decidedly so."
Did I just come back from chem lab? "Very doubtful."
Is Jessie gone? "It is decidedly so."
[This is Jessie's contribution to the experiment -- Is Amber a freak? "It is certain." There ya go.]
So, survey says... right: 6. wrong: 4. Dammit dammit dammit. No, I swear it's really good at this; it's just having a bad day. It got the first six right, by the way. I thought I was going to miraculously prove myself. But no. Perhaps my Magic 8 Ball isn't magic at all...
-----
But HEY! While I was checking my entry to make sure there were no spelling errors, my message machine made a noise and I looked and there was a message. I very well could have received a phone call. The message was someone hanging up. That would mean the Magic 8 Ball got 70% of the questions right and that's a hell of a lot more than 50. BOO-YAH! My Magic 8 Ball really works.
It's very sunny today but windy. Mathilda's got her little ivy leaves all stretched up to catch the sun and I know what's going on in there because we've been studying photosynthesis in bio. When you've got chocolate cookies, everything is lovely. My Magic 8 ball says I'm going to have a lovely day and that I'm not going to talk to any boys. For the most part, it pretty accurately predicts what's going on but if you ask it too many questions it gets irritated. I mean it. You can ask it questions you know the answers to and more than half the time (the odds), it's right. Let's do an experiment:
Is my name Amber? "You may rely on it."
Was I born in 1984? "Signs point to yes."
Is my mother's name Ruby? Twice -- "Ask again later." "My sources say no."
Is my father's name Ed? same as for the mom bit.
Do I live in Sharp Hall? "Most likely."
Do I live in New Orleans? "Very doubtful."
Are my eyes blue? "As I see it, yes."
Am I taking chemistry? "Don't count on it."
Am I taking biology? "It is decidely so."
Is my plant's name Mathilda? "Outlook not so good."
Survey says... right: 5. wrong: 5. Shit. Well, I told you it was getting irritated. I'll redo this experiment later. (Yes, I'm a dork but if you read through that whole thing you probably know enough about me to have guessed that already).
--------
Hey! I just thought of something! I didn't ask it any questions whose answer is no. I'll definitely have to do that in my next trial.
Oh my Christ, that's right. I linked this from my Tulane site. Shit shit shit. Fuck. Now I feel like I have to censor what I say about people at school. (But while I'm going to just give myself away anyway -- I might as well tell y'all that Yoni said he -- by he, i mean, the guy i met on saturday -- uses girls. So I thought, but he was so sweet and nice and all Saturday. And then Jessie said maybe he's like Graham, a manwhore. And it's completely true. Graham is the sweetest guy in the world but he makes out with everybody.)
I guess everybody just wants to be loved, like. It's not easy to be out there on your own. It's not easy to come from Antioch ... or Akron and just show up on the scene so when you take away that check in your brain I was talking about, you just fall into someone's arms and sober up together. You have a good excuse but then, according to the rules, you have nothing to talk about the next day, if you even call the person. If he even calls you. According to the rules, things will be awkward because you just gave in to everything you want to feel but you did it with someone you don't even know. Now, if you're both still interested, you have to start over. Hello, howareyoudoing, whereareyoufromagain?
Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. So I wanted to say to him, "I can tell that I'm being boring but it's only because I'm so nervous." However, he told me to call him tomorrow. I think he was just as nervous as I was, only he had his friends to hang out with and I had to somewhat meet them. I don't think it's only an alcohol thing -- I think we would have been more comfortable alone. Well, we were plenty comfortable last night in any case. Grr. It's so odd how I go straight back to the way I always was about guys -- nervous, silly, confused. But he's so adorable and sweet and all. Ahh! This is the part I hate -- the fumbling awkward part. ::whimper:: Fuck. I really am bad at this social situation thing.
What a little punk-ass bitch I am. I can't wait to get on blogger and write. I wish we could take breaks from our daily lives just to jot things down -- to make poetry from time, if you like. When you're in the middle of something you can't stop and write about it -- you're living it, so all the words come not second hand because that is their nature but third because it's after the fact:
Saturate, supposedly ranked on some Playboy party list, is held yearly at the Pike house (Pike because it's Pi Kappa Alpha). The jist is that every room in the house is decorated in a different theme and in each room, there is a different kind of alcohol to go with that theme. ((By the way, I had a fabulous time last night.)) The downstairs portion of this party was not that hip -- lots of Gatorade coolers with syrupy green and red stuff. Upstairs was where the real party was. There was a Mexico room with real sand and canaries, an American (I guess?) room, a stripper room, which I did not manage to get to. It was like a freaking mosh pit at that entrance. There was a Playboy room complete with Hugh Hefner grove/pool pond type thing, and, lastly, there was a rave room. I liked the rave room best because for some reason the actual bartenders for that room had mysterious disappeared and it became the Freshman Bar. I don't know why, but handing out beers to people already completely gone was fabulous. I loved that room. We were the freaking queens of that room. Okay, but I was drinking "190 proof" something that I was told is called Diesel. I could completely see why. I filled a cup about 3/4 with 7-up and not even all the way with this stuff and it tasted like straight vodka. My shit, it was strong. So I had maybe half of that glass and then my night got really good.
So I met this guy... And I'm so curious about all this -- do people regularly hook up but not? We didn't do anything, just kissed and slept for a while but we were hugging and kissing and it felt like...it felt like when I was with Joey. So I'm concerned but not especially concerned ("I am not worried, I am not overly concerned," as long as we're going to talk about Counting Crows). There's several things that bother me about my night. 1. Did I make him a one-night-transition-guy? I mean, if it felt like when I was with Joey, as good as it did feel, that's not normal for someone you just met, is it? Or is it when you're inebriated (cuz I was completely off my nut)? 2. If I felt as I did because it reminds me of being with Joey, then why did he feel the same way? This leads me to believe that alcohol causes feelings of ... of .... I don't know. Just goodness.
But I'm so good at protecting myself. I definitely pull my heart out of this one as much as possible, at least for now. I don't know why holding him and being held by him felt so good. Maybe it's alcohol. Maybe it's that it always feels good to be held and I just haven't had that experience much so I get very confused. But I like him. Ben. He said, completely drunk, that he would take me out to dinner tonight. That'd be nice. This is rambling and incoherent but I might still be a little drunk. If I'm not a little drunk, then the disorientation is definitely the hangover. However, I don't feel all sad and whatnot. Normally after a night of heavy drinking, I wake up very down. That was a great party.
"When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
We've been through this such a long long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain
But lovers always come and lovers always go
An no one's really sure who's lettin' go today
Walking away
If we could take the time to lay it on the line
I could rest my head
Just knowin' that you were mine
All mine
So if you want to love me
then darlin' don't refrain
Or I'll just end up walkin'
In the cold November rain
Do you need some time...on your own
Do you need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone
I know it's hard to keep an open heart
When even friends seem out to harm you
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you
Sometimes I need some time...on my
own Sometimes I need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone
And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain
Don't ya think that you need somebody
Don't ya think that you need someone
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one
You're not the only one"
("November Rain," of course, by Guns 'n Roses.) Just because.
Also, I went to go talk to Gabriel Sloan. I paced around the room for five minutes and then I walked down the two floors and knocked on his door. I think he was there. I think he said "come in" but I wasn't sure so I didn't try the door. I left. Now I'll never talk to him.
Every day, I think about going to see Gabriel Sloan. Every day, I say "I should go see Gabriel Sloan today." But I never do. Right now would be a perfect opportunity. The thing is, though, I wouldn't know what to say to him. Ever since the very first time I met him, I've had this feeling that I could tell him anything in the whole world and he would keep it a secret. The thing is, though, that I have nothing useful to tell.
When I do exchange a word or two with him, there's just something going on between us that I can't figure out. The last time I talked to him, he asked how I was doing. I told him I was doing shitty and that's why I haven't been social lately. Of course, this is a big lie. I have been trying to be social but I suck at it and I have been shitty but it has nothing to do with me not seeing him. But he replies that I should come by his room. He said I could talk to him and he would "make me happy." Tricky, tricky, tricky of Gabriel Sloan. I am much more cautious to trust things like that from him. From any ordinary guy, I would say, "Guys need to be more careful with the phrases they throw out. 'Make you happy' is the kind of thing that makes your heart skip a beat. Who doesn't want to be cared for?" But with him, it's different. He told me one time that he's very good at manipulating people. In the next breath, he told me that he would not manipulate me because we were friends but I wouldn't consider him my friend anymore. Does that mean it's open season on manipulating Amber? Even so, I still want to go down and see him. Maybe I'm more curious than anything else. I could never bring him around my room much -- Jessie, my roommate, despises him. Thing is, I know I'll end up talking about Joey (my somewhat recent ex). I don't want to talk about Joey but I think that's probably where we'll end up.
And, lastly, I have been on a reading spree since I got here (well, since Joey left me, really). I just finished Survivor by Chuck Palahnuik and The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver. I checked out Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut which I have been meaning to read for ages and also Piano Player, which was his first novel. I've decided to continue with Vonnegut in the best chronological order my library and I can muster. Also, Animal Dreams by Kingsolver, which, like Bean Trees, I have read before but do not remember. The library does not appear to have Pigs in Heaven, but only Cerdos en el cielo, which I would only understand 3/4 of, if that. Here's a couple books I recommend, while we're at it, in no particular order:
The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut
The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster
Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Fight Club and Survivor, Chuck Palahnuik
White Oleander, Janet Fitch (my favourite book)
Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan
One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess
Trainspotting, Irvine Welsch (I also highly recommend the movie -- don't read the book if you're not willing to concentrate. You'll see.)
Anais Nin's diaries.
Of those books, I was only required to read four. Slaughterhouse-Five I've read three times, once before it was required. I don't know why I just made that list but you can never read enough. It takes so much longer to get through a good book than to watch a movie and it takes more effort. I love that there's no television in my study lounge.
I absolutely despise it when they put Counting Crows songs on television shows. Movies I don't mind so much because often they're films and have artistic merit but when I hear "Rain King" on Scrubs, for some reason it makes me furious. I found myself a few minutes ago screaming obscenities at the television, knowing full well that everyone on the hall can hear me. "Fuck you, SCRUBS!! You're not good enough for Counting Crows! Stop it! Cut it the FUCK out!" (Actually, now that I think about it, it might not even be Scrubs but rather MDs. I have no clue which. I was only waiting for ER to come on. Why would they line up two doctor shows?)
So I just filled out this horribly long form about my cats and dogs back home so I could get a free Fancy Feast cat-feeding dish. Keep in mind that I don't have any pets here. Some of these questions are hilarious:
I buy different types of food to give my cat lots of variety
Feeding my cat table scraps is what it likes best and is
easiest for me
The time I spend with my cat is some of the most
important to me
It's important to feed my cat the best food I can even
if it's more expensive
I purchase brands that provide nutrition to build my cat's
system to protect it from illness and injury
I tend to buy whatever cat products are on sale
I buy different types of food to give my dog lots of variety
When it comes to food, I think that if my dog eats it, it
must be good enough
I want to follow the advice of an expert when it comes
to food for my dog
It's important to feed my dog the best food I can even if
it's more expensive
My dog is my best friend
Making food at home for my dog rather than buying
store-bought dog food, shows my dog that I love it
Feeding different brands of food is a good way to satisfy
all of my dog's needs
Having said that, I think, if necessary, I could be an old haggard wench with just a dog. I wouldn't want a bunch of cats but I could survive on just a beagle. If I could never find anyone to love me ever again, I could get along with just a little Rover or Mitch or something. I understand why people gets cats and cats and cats. I could do it. I'd sit and read and take my little doggie out for a walk and go to free lectures and concerts and stuff. Maybe by then they'll have invented the teleporter and I wouldn't even have to hobble to get there. Y'all seen High Fidelity? There's only certain people with a disposition to be worried about being alone for the rest of their lives at 18. I am of that disposition. But I'm not so much worried because as long as there's dogs to adopt, I'll be happy. We need a dog in Sharp. It'd make everybody a lot more chill.
So today in psych, my professor tells us that adolescents tend to "overemphasize the uniqueness of their experiences." This made me take a gasp of air. Um...am I not this person -- do I not overemphasize everything? When Joey and I first got togther, I felt for sure that no one had ever experienced this kind of feeling before. We had something new, something incredible. Is there some stage I was supposed to have passed that I have not? Does one suddenly come to the realization at some point that nobody's unique?
In any case, I always mean to write about my psych teacher. He tells us all the time about his dog. From what I can tell from what little he has said, he lives by himself in his own place with a dog. Poor guy. I imagine him reading the paper drinking coffee in the morning all alone. I just want to take him in my arms and cuddle him. I imagine that he would be a very gentle lover, sweet, kind. He wouldn't be too imposing. I could practically fall in love with him right now. He's only a good 10 years older than me.
Okay, maybe I spoke a mite hastily. He said he was having speaker troubles. Whatever. I don't like the thought of him troubling with his speakers when I talk to him in the first time in a long time. I like the thought of him anxiously awaiting my responses, cowering at their indifference. I like the thought of him in pain, dying to be with me and without the courage to ask. Not that I would take him back now... The more I think about it, the less I want to be with him. I feel so freaking healthy.
I'm in a good mood today. It takes so little to get me there. Thanks Ned. And Stephanie from Prima Donna's Closet called. It was maybe 3 or 4 weeks ago that I had an interview with her. I assumed I didn't get the job because she never called me back but when I got back from bio today, there was this message from her. I called her and she has to call me back now but I'm very curious. Is she now in a position to hire me? Why else could she possibly be calling? My hair, makeup and clothes are all second-rate -- she couldn't possibly want tips. (This is funny to me only because I know myself. Anyone else reading this will not get the joke. I don't wear makeup. I don't do my hair. I buy all my clothing from thrift stores. Nobody wants to look like me.)
It never really occured to me that he wouldn't want to talk to me and be my friend. It didn't occur to me that he might be angry with me. It surprises me how very little I seem to care:
SapGirly: hey
Bizarro: what's up?
SapGirly: nothing much. what's up with you?
Bizarro: bad cold. hit yesterday so i've just been chillin.
SapGirly: awwh. is it really cold there yet?
Bizarro: no, i caught it from billy
Bizarro: right now is our "summer"
SapGirly: oh, fun. it's been cold here for a while, raining. it's fairly yucky. i thought this was supposed to be a tropical paradise year-round
Bizarro: that sucks. i offer my apologies though i cannot control the weather.
SapGirly: how are your classes and whatnot?
Bizarro: i dropped/ am dropping prosem because i don't have to take it. my online class sucks because i am waiting on the book and keep turning in half ass b/s assignments or none at all. spanish is going well, but my teacher is giving me shit because i don't particiapte
Bizarro: participate
SapGirly: i almost got to see (hed)pe on saturday but i got to the concert too late.
Bizarro: free?
SapGirly: no
SapGirly: it was called voodoofest. lot of people playing -- counting crows
Bizarro: awesome. sorry you didn't get to go.
SapGirly: oh no, i did get to go but i didn't hear (hed)pe. i would only have known the one song anyway. i was the only one that had ever heard of them and of course i never would have except that you played them for me -- i got to see all kinds of cool people though.
Bizarro: awesome. (huge pause)
Bizarro: who else played?
SapGirly: nappy roots, j5, 311, no doubt, garbage, macy gray, jack johnson, crystal method, sum41, other people i don't know
Bizarro: i would've gone to that.
Bizarro: you know me and 311.
SapGirly: they played the same time as counting crows. i hoped everyone would go see them (i even missed half of no doubt and had to sit through macy gray to get a good spot) but they didn't -- there were a ton of people at cc
SapGirly: it started raining in the middle of "only happy when it rains" (garbage). it was completely awesome
Bizarro: cool. (no further conversation)
We haven't talked in a month. We used to talk every day. We prided ourselves on it. It seems like ...so long ago. I can't hardly believe I've come this far in just a month. I've changed my whole freakin' outlook, practically. Or maybe I've just gone back to the way it always was. In any case, the little IM sits there unanswered and I'm not in the mood to care much. I really don't miss his friendship that much. I'm a lot happier now than I was when I was with him (in New Orleans at least).
It makes biological sense that one should feel down after one drinks. Alcohol prevents chemicals from being transported in your brain. At first, you feel the effects of pain being removed and whatnot but when you wake up in the morning, you feel down. People don't like hangovers because you throw up and feel sick. My hangovers aren't sickness or the need to vomit -- I just wake up feeling very down and lonely. Any problems I had the night before feel worse in the morning. But they felt unimportant while I was drunk. That's the thing -- you need to have something planned to cheer you up the next day if you're planning a night of heavy drinking. I'm not sure why I'm commenting on this now but I feel like it.
And, I can tell that I'm going to like Hard Candy a lot more now that I've seen them play it live. Plus, there's some site (too lazy to link) I read today which was basically an interview with Adam Duritz where he talks about the meanings of each song. I really like that. In a way, it takes away from the experience -- if it's all interpretation, it can mean anything you want -- but in another, it really gives you a much deeper understanding of the lyrics. It's silly, really, how I expect every song of his to reflect his own experiences and feelings but many of my own works do not. In fact, a great many. But they start to sometimes (I wrote about this before. It's probably still down there.) Every time I listen to them, I think "I can be a writer." But...I will never be Adam. I should stop trying.
It kills me to hear the entire audience screaming the lyrics. Damn them all. It's so stupid expecting to get some kind of individual recognition from Adam. There's maybe 10,000 people in the audience or something and you think because you put your hands in the air when no one else is or shout something there's no way he's going to hear there will be some special moment between you and him that you both will remember forever. It doesn't work that way. There's people that recognize this and therefore make no attempts, people that recognize this and still make attempts and fantasize (me), and those that don't recognize this at all and still expect that moment to occur. This guy next to me at the Garbage show thought he would get that moment. He kept doing the beckoning hand motion thing. It was really pathetic, actually. Poor souls that think they're something special to someone very special. I'm ordinary. I will never be anything like Adam. Some people have it and some don't. Just because I don't want to be e.e. cummings or Walt Whitman doesn't mean they weren't completely out of any league I could even comprehend. It'd be nice to have a couple intelligent people enjoy my writing some day, though. In fact, it may already have happened. When people write me I don't know what to tell them. "Thank you for liking my site..." I always fantasize about meeting someone because of this site and becoming friends and stuff. Somebody a lot like me. Somebody who knows me completely from reading this all the time and is still interested. I lay it all down here on this motherfucker. I've talked about pain and sex and masturbation and love and cheating and friends and betrayal and stealing and everything I've done. I've put it all right here. And I make no apologies.
I just had the best night. I was considering writing Joey and telling him all about it but it's still his turn so instead I'll tell y'all. Okay, brief intro:
Today, I went to Voodoo Music Fest and it was fucking kick-ass, but not as well-organized as Warped Tour, which I unfortunately missed this past summer because Joey is a poo-head. Boo on him. In any case -- my entire floor went so I mostly hung out with them all night except I lost them after Jack Johnson (I'll get to it.)
Here's the bands I saw with paragraphs and explanations, of course:
Before I delve into that list, though, I'll tell you that, unfortunately, I did not get to see (hed)PE, but I'll play Crazy Legs right now so I can hear the one song I wanted to hear by them anyway. They rock like crazy. Right then -- in sequential order:
Nappy Roots. They were really cool. I think I want to purchase something of theirs in the near future. I only got to see the last half of their set and we weren't really into it because we just got there but they still were tight.
Sum41. Sum41 was really cool, not so much because I'm really into Sum41 or their music or anything like that but the leader singer-guy was really drunk and kept screaming "motherfuckers" at us. It was awesome. And people were crowd-surfing so there was a semi-mosh thing going on. It took me back to my old wanna-be punk days with Less Than Jake and Anti-Flag concerts. Yay.
Jack Johnson. I don't really know who Jack Johnson is but I had heard one song he played. He's very mellow. I wasn't very impressed.
Jurassic 5. J5 was completely kick-ass. They really rocked but I didn't know any of the songs they were playing so I left early to go watch
Garbage. Even though it was a long walk to get there (they shut off the entrance to the area they had open before), I made it before the set even started. I was way to the right but I could see almost the entire show. Let me tell you that Garbage just completely rocked the house. They fucking tore off the roof and bashed in the walls. They rocked the house into the ground. I was completely impressed and now feel a deep need to go out and purchase the old Garbage CD an ex-friend stole from me in the 7th grade. And I have a story that deserves its own paragraph and I will tell this story to practically everybody and they will get sick to fuck of hearing it:
It started raining when Garbage was playing "I'm Only Happy When It Rains." I swear to God. It was the most fucking awesome thing I have ever seen. It seriously hadn't rained all day and then it started raining and it rained through the rest of her set and a little bit after (maybe 15-20 minutes total). It was completely freaking cool. Shirely Manson is a god. I can't believe it. I'm still so excited about it.
Macy Gray. Macy Gray was very odd and somewhat disturbing. I wasn't impressed. She played quite a few songs from the album I own and she told us to "worship the dick" and masturbated on stage. That's all I have to say about that.
Counting Crows. So I only went to Macy Gray (missing what could have been half of No Doubt's set) to get a good spot to see CC. I figured when Macy Gray was done everybody would go watch 311 on the main stage. But no. When Macy Gray was done, everybody crowded the hell in and a bunch of tall people stood in front of me. I spent the entire set on my tiptoes or looking between peoples' shoulders, crouched down. It was completely worth it though. They opened with "Goodnight Elisabeth." I almost died. I'm surprised my voice isn't gone; I was screaming like crazy. They played a lot of Hard Candy but some good old favourites, too. Actually, most of the old songs they played were the same they performed when I saw them at Berkeley. But that's alright because every one of their songs is pimp as shit and I love them and I could sit there all day, standing up, looking through peoples' shoulders, just to hear them live. I still can't believe he's a real person. I love that music so much. It's such a part of me, even though I'm not a part of it. Adam is so freaking positive now. It's actually really nice. It's odd, though. The way he improved the words, you would swear he wrote them with love and happiness in his heart. What do I know? Maybe he did, but they sure don't sound like it. They did tonight, though. I wish they would just play and play and play and the real fans would stay and stand and scream. All the people there just not to lose their friends would go home. ::sigh:: It was a good day.
Voodoo in a very short amount of time. I hope I don't die. I need to be able to scream and cry and dance at Counting Crows' set. There's just something about Adam's voice or his lyrics or ...something. This band has always had a huge effect on me. I can never tell if the words suck the life out of me or nourish. Is catharsis beneficial even if it's painful?
I'm listening to Hard Candy right now but I don't want to be. I'd really like to listen to Recovering the Satellites but then again, I shouldn't because it'll get me down. It's amazing the amount of influence this band has had in my life, now that I think about it. I've tried to live my life like an Adam Duritz song. Listen to this that I wrote quite a while ago (actually not that long ago -- January this year):
These yellow pages of mine rip easily,
crease on heavy folds.
Weathered with the drops of sunlight
and rays of liquid stain and gray.
No more than the humidity of my emotion,
of release -- air and light,
than my tears.
Screaming slides across the page,
darkened lightly and turned over.
Words and words. It only says
in huge, neon letters,
glittered across eight by eleven
and stenciled in orange highlight
the engraving
I am not Adam.
I am not Adam,
and all that entitles, forever.
Basically, this poem is about me trying to think of something to write and not having anything good to say. The first verse deals with me having an old notebook that I haven't written in in a long time. And maybe it's because I feel things but I never really let them out; I never cry (or at least, I didn't). The second verse is about me trying to write something and getting frustrated because it's no good and all I can think is that I'm trying to be like Adam. Instead of just writing myself and my life, I'm trying to write Adam. I'm trying to write "Goodnight Elisabeth." I'm trying to write "Raining in Baltimore" or "Kid Things" or "40 Years." I could never write "40 Years." I'm not clever enough. I'm so lucky to be seeing them. Also, (hed)PE, Garbage, No Doubt, 311 (whatever), Jurassic 5, Nappy Roots, others. Stupid three stages. You have to choose. It's going to be so cool.
Don't you just hate it when you type a fat thing and then you click something, you don't know what, but something and the entire couple of paragraphs you've just typed are now gone? You all will never know what I was just writing. Ha.
Interesting how at times of sadness or trial you return to those places or people that were comforting. I guess that isn't very interesting. See, this is just the thing. I don't get down about Joey but when I get down, I think about him. I'm not even feeling that down I just ...don't really want to be hanging out by myself right now but I don't have anyone in particular I want to hang out with. ::sigh:: It takes so little to get me down and so little to cheer me back up.
The thing about alcohol isn't so much that it makes you change your personality or do things you don't want to do, but that it kind of lets you do all the things you really want to do but hold back on sober. Alcohol removes that check in your head the half-second before you say or do anything. Like calling Lara Sara several times last night. I have struggled with her name before but I had never called her Sara before, I don't think, because in my head, I say "her name is Lara." But when I'm trying to talk to her inebriated, it comes out all wrong because that half-second pause isn't there anymore. I do and say whatever I feel like doing and saying and apologize for it a half-second later. Maybe a coupe of seconds later.
I hope everybody had a great Halloween. I had a pretty fun time. My real friends went back around one. I was still at Bourbon at maybe...three-thirty. I hung out with this guy Chase that I thought was gay but he was dancing pretty...non-gayishly. It's really odd to have somebody touch you and you don't even care. I really wasn't that drunk and I'm not that hungover now. I definitely stayed in-between the buzz and I'm-so-sloppy-drunk-I'm-irritating phase. At least, I hope I wasn't irritating. Now I can finally take this fucking Halloween theme off my goddamn desktop.
