I'm sorry I used the "Yesssss" with a lot of s's in both the last entries. I'm weird.

Merry twenty ninth party.

My Party was good.
Thank You for coming.
Yesssssssssss.

Uri.

Yesssssssssssss.

I miss him, I wish we could hang out in real life again. And he could be silly.

You know who kind of sucks?

Minus the Bear; oddly enough, I have two CDs... Why I ever bought the second one is beyond me. I think because of that one song that is good, that I can't remember the name of, that I had before I bought any of it. Thanks to an MP3 blog. Oh well. Just adds to my CD count.

I'm going to have a Christmas Party; you're invited. If you know where my house is. I'm think about having it on the 27th or 28th. Therefore it will be in the middle of Christmas and New Year's. I want to ensure that people can actually come; I don't know a lot of people, if a handful of the people can't come, it will end up being Kaylee & Fred and maybe Jane. And that will be depressing.
So, please, come. It will be nice, I want to decorate the basement (that I share with the rest of my family, and does not solely belong to my sister, like she may think) in kitschy Christmas decor that I'm going to borrow from my grandmother, probably, considering we don't have much when it comes to Christmas decor. We're lucky if we get our tree decorated before Christmas eve, in all honesty. But yes, all decorated cheesy and Christmassy, and everyone should wear party clothes; and in a sense that it is 1965, not 2008, so party dresses and shirts with bad ties and things that like. We'll listen to records (well, that of course depends on if I have a working turntable in time, so if I don't we'll just listen to Buddy Holly on my iPod, but hopefully we won't have to.) and chat about nothing. And drink punch and eat desserts like cupcakes that I'll make. And not alcohol. It will be a time to be had, for sure. That is, if anyone comes.

I just realized I don't like Wolf Parade a lot; but I do love the Monkees. Which means my taste in hip music is awful, and I don't care.
Fleet Foxes is remarkably good.


Also, there was string cheese in my freezer today, I didn't move it, just looked at puzzled and was sad that there was no more lean cuisines.

Ailments.

Lately my paranoia has been focused on the possibility of having extreme physical ailments; like caner, or something equally awful, another kind of cancerous tumor of some sort. But wouldn't I know? Wouldn't I be sick? Probably. But I have this awful feeling sometimes that I probably am sick, but I just live with it, because I assume this is normal.
But, really I am just crazy.
And, today, when I was getting blood drawn for my bloodwork, I nearly passed out and blacked out almost entirely. It was the weirdest feeling ever. I can't really explain it, but the closest I have ever felt to it was the way that I felt at band camp (let the jokes ensue) with sun poisoning. But, that was more of a delirious state, not a sudden blood pressure drop.

There's a good possiblity, I've been told, that I will be hired on officially at Macy's. Which is news that I don't know how I feel about. Naturally, I don't have to accept, but if I am asked I probably will. And that's all for that thought.
I was at the beanery tonight after work (that sounds weird, because generally the beanery IS work, but no, I was working at Macy's, at my second job...the thing that makes me "the good woman, that I would marry, Sarah!" as Erez told me, who is Sarah, because without Ron he forgot my name. He's just too cute to correct, but I digress.) I was at the beanery, and the mall was closing and Lauren Kors was there, and she was inquiring as to who the super cute guy at Verizon was. And I was like, Oh that Michael, he just got married. And then he waved at me a bunch. Sheesh Michael, apparently you just got married.

Do side effects include?

I started taking this new medicine; I won't go into details of what the medicine is, because it's irrelevant (kinda), but I will say that it affects your brain. Now, generally, I noticed that it made me mouth dry, and I slept better at night, and felt a little loopy when I first woke up, but generally nothing serious. But I've noticed one other interesting thing that has happened since I started said medication: I have weird dreams, I remember them, and there are minor (and maybe not so minor, but not so major) celebrities involved. I remember three (I just started the medicine a week ago, these are the past three nights, or maybe two nights, I think I had two different dreams last night, also irrelevant):

First:
I was hanging out with my mom and Karessa from work. This is weird, because I've hung out with my mom before, but not generally at a Mexican place (as we were) and I never hang out with Karessa outside of work. Nothing against her, but out social outings rarely overlap. But yes, we were hanging out, sipping sodas and having a good time. Then our good friend-- the our being a collective of myself, my mother, and Karessa-- Rainn Wilson, shows up. This may have to do with the fact that I love the Office a whole bunch, and that I watch it a lot, but probably not, based on the other "celebs" that involved in the dreams. Rainn orders us a big plate of burritos (like, big ones, Chipotle style) and I talk about that day that we bought burritos from Chipotle on that Sunday in the summer at work (haha, one breath) using the money out of a pay out that Jen did for lunch. In the dream this was a captivating story, even though, there isn't much more to the story in real life.
It's weird that I told a story, in a dream, to Rainn Wilson of a really not so exciting time at the Beanery. (Speak of the bean, and dreams, if I have time, some other dream I had once was where the Beanery was not only a real place, but also a sitcom, and it had a really successful first season, but Dave was too unpredictable so they replaced Dave Clark with David Spade...because they look so much a like..and all.. but I digress--) Anyway, because Karessa was there (but my mom wasn't anymore, she disappeared) in the dream, at the table with us, but had not been at work on said Chipotle day, she started to cry. The kind Rainn who had just been telling us about how he wants to be a classic actor ala Cary Grant moments before turned into full on Dwight Shrute (I think his clothes magically changed too, from the GAP ad clothes, to mustard short sleeved glory) and started to yell at Karessa for crying. This is when Zach Braff showed up and drove away with Karessa in his crappy old car. And I was left alone, with Dwight eating burritos.

Second Dream:
I was at a party, with my mom and my sister and my grandma. It was at a little house that looked like a gingerbread house, but it also was connected to a building that looked like a big warehouse, or the big buildings that house indoor roller coasters. And the party was absolutely packed. We were all waiting for something. Something big. And while there were hundreds and hundreds (somehow) of people crammed in this teeny little gingerbread looking house, there were double doors that led out to the warehouse part, where there was a stage and a bunch of trapeeze. And we were all waiting for Joel McHale to do his magic show/daredevil routine. My mom was really excited, and my sister was just there having no emotion, which is weird for her (but, duh, like being in a lifesize gingerbread house waiting for Joel McHale off the Soup to perform a magic show isn't) and I was just hoping I'd get to meet Joel.
Then this boy rolled in the door in a wheelchair and everyone clapped. And I said "Oh look, he has pulsy." and my mom started to cry and talked about how Macauly Culkin's brother (who doesn't exist) Muhlayley(?) had just died of Pulsy. Which is weird, and I suppose some sort of weird connection to the movie the Mighty, staring his real brother Kieren, where he plays a boy with some dilapitating disease.
Then Joel never showed, but in his place was Zach Braff (reappearing) and he tried to tell everyone that his show would be better than Joel's couldever be which was why Joel was fired.
But I just went outside and was sad about the dead Culkin brother.

Third Dream:
In this dream I was in a play. I don't know what the play was about, but it was a really really really big deal. And there was a lot of preparation that went into this play, and lots of costumes and blah blah blah. We were really really good, and the cast included (not famous people, not yet, people I actually know) Myself, Henrie Wilson, Kaytee Calhoun, Brian Ensminger, Lizzy Franks, Stephen Montgomery, Fred Jayne, and Alex Christman. And the majority of us were really really excited and the show was going to be playing at Playhouse in the Park, and it was advirtised everywhere, and I was so excited that I couldn't stand it, and the night before the play, Brian decided that he would rather go see a concert in Oregon than be in the play. And he had the lead role (whatever it was) and I was so mad. No one else was really mad, but I was super mad. And it was going to be my big shot at being an actor or something, and it was ruined and no one was willing to go on without Brian so slowly everyone else quit. Except me, Kaytee and Alex. And then it didn't matter, and they didn't even show up on opening night. So I ran away...to Indiana. And I was sad and hanging out in a diner. I was crying and drinking soda and eating burritos (I've been dreaming about burritos) and who came to comfort me? Oh, just Mike Nesmith circa 1965. And he said, that he would marry me and we could have a family in California and everyone would love me in Hollywood if I never said anything about the Monkees ever, and when Davy and Peter and Mickey came over for their monthly "Monkee Meeting" that I went out shopping.
So I agreed. Because Mike was cute in 65.


And that's why I'm curious about the medicine's affect on my brain during sleep.
Because sure, I can sleep better, but the crazy things that I'm realizing my head is thinking about while sleep are a little nutty.
And funny. Yeah, mostly just really really funny.

One time, there was this guy

There was this guy who came to the beanery one time, and he was an idiot. He had a perfectly "coifed" (you know, I didn't know how to say that word until just recently. But, I digress) faux-hawk and made a super retarded remark about how it was dumb that I couldn't break his gal pal's fifty dollar bill at nine in the morning. Despite the fact that his hair was brown, I described him later as "Some D-bag who looked like Spencer off the Hills."

Tonight, I found out: His name is really Jim and he's my new manager.
Oh, hooray.

Famous People are people to. This concept is kinda eery.

I watch way too much television. I've taken it up as a hobby lately, and it's becoming a problem. I obsessively watch shows, and not just like one or two, I watch a lot of shows. And I didn't used to be that way. Not because I wanted to be cool by NOT watching TV just because I'm A.D.D, and it was a bothersome activity. I couldn't remember to watch shows when they were on, and the only way that I remembered to watch anything that I wanted to was the amazing invention that we know as "DVR" or, the better product that I wish we still had, everyday, over the fore mentions DVR: TiVo. That smiley little television logo really made my life easier, and I seriously became spoiled by it. I began to not want to watch TV if I didn't have the ability to press a button and watch that gosh darn hilarious cellular sales commercial (I've youtubed it, when I was bored 'cell phone commercials', it doesn't take much to make me laugh. Though, I'm picky, AT&T has lame commercials, but I digress) The idea that there wasn't a button on my grandmother's remote to go back and rewatch the commercial was baffling. I was (am) spoiled.

TV and I just weren't really connecting the way that TV connects with some people; I mean, we were casual, I liked shows here and there. TVland, BRAVO, the occasional VH1, but nothing too serious; casual encounters with I love the 80's, just enough to give me a little uncertain crush on Mo Rocca (Straight? Gay? Not sure. Funny? Cute in an awkward way? Certainly) and get me into Project Runway and Cosby kids. But like I said, nothing too committed, just a fling.

TV and I have taken the plunge, and he's beginning to think that I'm moving too fast, and that he's not ready for such a commitment. I never wanted a TV in my bedroom, but now I wish that we had the extra DVR reciever laying around, and I could hook that sucker up and get serious upstairs. I've began to purchase TV on DVD, and frequently watching it! I have all of the office, all of Flight of the Conchords, some A&E/BBC, and I keep buying it. The live feed and DVR selections just aren't enough for me. I watch at least four shows regularly. I've never done that before in my life. I can safely say that I've seen 90 percent of the Cosby show, 100% of Gilmore Girls (at least four times) and 100% the Office, 3 out of 4 seasons at least twice all the way through, with deleted scenes. TV is starting to wonder if I'm trying to play my cards right to get myself a ring! He said he's worried about me picking out new bedspreads and entertainment stands on my trips to IKEA, and he's just not ready for me to become a full fledged podcast listening, blog following, super television fan; can't we move slower? he says, he's not ready for that. And, when I step out of myself for a moment, I'm not sure that I am either.

Though, here's something interesting that my TV binge has taught me, and I have proof:

People on TV aren't really who they are on TV, they are real people, with real lives. And just (generally) a lot more money than me, and live in California.

But, they do have Myspaces, and Twittr accounts. These are things that make them eerily like me, when it comes to the internet. Except, they get more friend requests and they have legit IMDB pages.

One guy that I never really thought about, but now am absolutely fascinated by is a fellow by the name of John Cabrerra. Now, I never really paid attention to what his real name was, but I knew his face. I had a little bit of a crush on his face, and he was one of my favorite characters on one of my favorite shows, I really wanted to be friends with him. Brian Fuller, of course, who is the bassist in Hep Alien (safely on of the stupidest band names ever, but fictional. Linkin Park on the other hand...) which features Sebastian Bach only his name is Gil, and a a chick drummer. They play covers and have one of the most awkward cross section of members ever. But hey, they are merely a subplot on Gilmore Girls, which has been cancelled, so pretty much they're just a blip in syndicated heaven. But none the less, Brian was awkward and nerdy and cute, and I wanted to be his friend. Brian is not real. But, John Cabrerra is. And John Cabrerra messaged me on myspace today, and we talked about Ryan Adams. This blows my mind! People on TV do not message me on myspace, generally. Or, ever. In fact, getting an email from Matt Theissen in the eighth grade or getting a "autographed" photo of Orlando Bloom are the closest thing I have to an expirience like this. The Orlando Bloom thing is weird, and the Matt Theissen thing was that I emailed him first, and he was just responding...three and half months later.

Well, I did meet the lead singer of Anberlin randomly in a mall once. But that's a different story, semi popular pop punk rock whatever bands that may or may not be "Christian" bands don't count, I've met plenty of those types. But I've never had any sort of conversation (actual or virtual) with anyone off television.

And turns out, John Cabrerra is a lot like Brian Fuller, despite the having the same face and body part.

I mean, body and face part. I worded that awkwardly. I'll just let it go, it's kind of funny.

So, I kinda have met Brian Fuller. At least via a myspace conversation about Ryan Adams.

And that's pretty cool too.

I've rediscovered the wonders of internet radio.

All facets of it.
-Launch, which was the first love. The radio that made me so frustrated because it generally is stupid, but has introduced me to such gems as Sondre Lerche, Belle and Sebastian, Ryan Adams, Kings of Convenience, Mando Diao, Kimya Dawson and the Moldy Peaches, Okkervil River, Neutral Milk hotel...pretty much almost all of the bands that later have been my absolute favorites. And it's great, the whole way you can narrow your tastes and it gives you all these bands...it's wonderful.
-Last.Fm is great too. It does a similar thing as Launch, but it takes it one further. It goes INTO your itunes and it finds what you play the most and gives you music based on that. Or, it'll give you music based on similar artists. And, you can play it from you desktop. Neat.
And then, more conventionally...
-The fact that I can listen to any of the hundreds of This American Life episodes, whenever I want. Ira Glass at the click of a button.
-Wait Wait don't tell me.
-Norse Code, and how Fred has a radio show, and he talked about me on it, and my love of Ryan Adams.
-WOXY.com. Which is one of the coolest things about Cincinnati, that we used to have radio like this in the airwaves. But you can listen to it still online, and one of the DJs is one of people at my church who does the offering and announcements (the pastors son, who used to be my neighbor, crazy!) and they play good stuff.

Internet radio is good.

I need a job.

Real real real bad.

When your car smells like chicken.

Have you ever sat and thought about why you think about things? Like, how your thought processes flit from thing to thing and you find yourself contemplating things like how if Ira Glass is a morning person or more of a night owl? Like, where do I get things like that? Why am I thinking about the host/producer of a top rated PRI radio show in the first place and what does it matter? I was thinking about how I am a night person, and how I was on a roll last night and caught up on all the This American Life episodes that I've been neglecting on my ipod, since I have an ipod dock in my room and all. Then I was thinking about, I wonder if Ira Glass gets a lot of work done inthe morning or at night, I get nothing done in the morning, and I do everything I need (and do not need to do, as in update this and listen to This American Life) at night.
That's how my thought process went.
And that was an easy one.

Earlier today I was vacuuming out my car. Now, I could care less if my car was vacuumed or not, and in general I really despise the whole process of doing it. But my mother was adamant about me doing it and so I was today, and it had gotten rather dirty. Crumbs and broken leaves everywhere, for a moment as I was lying on my stomach vacuuming the edges underneath my seats I started to think about how my car smelled like chicken. That is a little unfortunate, that my car smelled like chicken, because chicken is not really a smell you want to linger. When you're hungry and in a restaurant or are preparing chicken of some sort, the aroma of chicken is a nice, pleasant sort of thing; but, when you ate chicken in your car about four days ago the smell of chicken isn't quite as welcoming, it's kind of disgusting. And a reminder that I eat way too much chicken.
As I was contemplating not eating in my car anymore (which, I won't do) I also got to thinking about this one time, last summer, when I was hanging out with Sara. It was a day we went to Newport, probably the last time I was at the levee, and Fred was drunk and wanted to hang out after we were done. I remember we got taco bell and ate it in the parking lot, and then called Fred a bunch of times, but he didn't answer because he was asleep. The car smelled like beans and processed taco meat. We hung out, I guess, for a little while. Fred was a grump, and Sara was with Jason, and we drove Jason home because he didn't want to walk. And complained a bunch about the car, and how it smelled like Taco Bell.

And so I started thinking about last summer, and how things were so different. Sara and Jason, working at wendy's. All the things that were different, before August. Before Andee happened (at all) and when we used to watch movies in Fred's basement with Sara and Jason. I think this also was in my head because we watched The Devil and Daniel Johnston last night, I had forgotten how good it was, and the last time we watched it was one of those times. I feel like things are so much more forced now, and I don't know why that is. Maybe I make Fred nervous because of how upset the whole Andee debacle made me, I don't know, but things are very different feeling. We don't hang out alone, almost ever, like we used to. Not that now is bad, because it isn't. Now is just fine, it's just weird that it's changed, but we aren't doing anything differently. I don't know what the change actually is, and I'm not unhappy with our friendship now, I'm really happy we're friends, that's all I mean. I just hate that there were times when we kinda weren't.

It's also weird, how different Sara is now. And it's good. She's in college, and it's weird to think that she ever dated someone like Jason, and just before that someone like Wes, who more or less fell off the face of the planet. It's weird. Because I can't say I'm any different. I have the same friends now that I did then, and nothing drastic happened to me.
But, it did, because it happened to them.

Thought Processes are weird.


-------------
All my talk about Hans Brinker the other night, and I came across this amazing ad campaign for a hostelish motel in Amsterdam, and if I ever go to Amsterdam (as a fairly young, brave person) I'd like to stay there. just because they're ad campaign is hilariously brilliant.


Anyhow.
I have to go finish my CDs now.

Hans Brinker, Keira Knightly, Solitaire.

I am sitting at my computer.
I am listening to this really cute band called "Suburban White Kids With Biblical Names", they are scandinavian of some sort, scandinavian vocalists have very calming voices, and are generally blonde. I do not know what the members of this band look like, but I imagine it to be blonde, and skinny, and somewhat like Hans Brinker. Only hip, and trendy, with straw like blonde hair and waify eyes. And, like Hans Brinker. So it's cold. Ice skating is involved...
They're swedish, I've come to find out, not anything like Hans Brinker (mainly because Hans Brinker is a ficticious character from a book that I read when I was in the sixth grade, that I liked very much, he was dutch. He was trying to win a skating contest, I think, to win Silver Skates...I wikipedia this, I am close to correct.) I have been listening to a lot of music like this lately, I think because it's slightly intoxicating. I do not feel better when I listen to twee, I just feel like I'm in a dream. A whiney one, with soft guitars and blonde people. Stuart Murdoch and Isobel Campbell are there, hanging out with Erland Oye and Pelle Carlberg. Sondre Lerche called and said that he cannot make it to the party. We all listen to Pet Sounds and drink wine. It's probably snowing.

I have decided I want to start watching movies. This is a new thing for me. I do not generally watch movies. But I want to. It's a good way to spend at least an hour not thinking, and I am in desperate need of such form of distraction. Also, I've run out of episodes of the Office, and This American Life shows on my iPod. I have gone to the movies three times in three weeks, as well as watched two movies I'd never seen at home. I saw Nick and Norah's whatever twice (in theaters, my head may explode if I hear Michael Cera be pathetic another time), Persepolis (I liked it, I slept through the end. They were speaking french. I was tired. I'll finish it later), Funny Face (Audrey really was a doll, wasn't she?) and tonight, I went (with my mom, because she didn't like the idea of me going to the movies alone, which was good in the long run) to see the new movie with Keira Knightly (or, is it Knightley?) The Duchess.
It was very very good. But I'm always into a good period drama.

Tonight, I replayed the same game of Solitaire seven times (or for an hour, whichever sounds more dramatic) trying to win it. Normally I would've given up after it wasn't easy anymore. I wanted to perfect myself. I spent over an hour playing solitaire on my computer.
Fantastic.

There you have it.
I lead an exciting life.

I think I always had a crush on Hans Brinker, though, I don't know why. Possibly because he was dutch...his name was Hans...
I've always had a thing for blondes.

The thoughts that I have, all the time, every day.

I am afraid.
I am afraid all the time.
I am afraid all the time that you hate me.
I am afraid all the time that you hate me because I talk too much, because I think too hard, because I say the wrong the thing, becuase I'll never be pretty enough, because I try too hard to be your friend.
I am afraid that I will always be hated.
I cannot be happy with my friends because I am too paranoid.
I am too sensitive to nothing.
I come off a lot meaner than I am.
I talk too much and no one cares.
I hear what I am saying and it does not and never will matter; what I hear more, though, is the silence after I speak.
I should never speak again.
Why did you make this way, G-d?
Why are you letting this happen to me?
How can I measure up to what I live in?
I am not smart, and I am not pretty, and there is no other option.
All I ever hear is what a girl is wished to be, and I will never live up to it.
Which means I will never get married, which means I will never feel love, which means I will live alone, die alone.
I should get it over with, then.
I should just go to sleep and never wake up.
I should just never eat again,
I will get sick and I will get thin.
But I can't even do that.
I can't even self destruct.
I am incapable of finishing anything that I start.
The only person who knows how I think is my mother; she says there's demons in my head. There are demons in my head. No wonder everything I do is wrong. I have demons.
When I try, they find things wrong.
When I cry, I am weak. They yell.
Why do I keep trying?
What makes me happy I'll never have.
I'll never be happy.
These thoughts will just get worse and worse.
How can this be fixed? [repeat.]

I am completely sure that....

I've noticed that I write really stupidly, because I think it's funny. I think a lot of things are funny, but they really aren't. I think the new Microsoft commercials are funny, I think that Flight of the Conchords is funny, I think that Demetri Martin is funny. That's okay, all those things are, in fact, generally thought to be and truly are funny.
It is not funny to acknowledge what grammatical devices you are using in paretheses in the middle of a sentence; (semi-colon!) it's kind of weird, and I don't know why I started doing that. But I think it's funny, so! (interjection!!) I probably won't stop.
The ironic part is, my parentheses are kind of just dangling participles, anyway. (Dangling Participle!!!)

------------------

...this entry is pointless.

Thank God.

Have you ever noticed how Facebook takes one of your interests and gives you ads that are something ridiculous and your interest blown out of proportion? ie:
"Bing Crosby Action Figures"


I hate thinking about things.
I hate it when I'm reminded of inadaqaucies.
I hate how nearly every guy I know is absolutely amazingly stuck up his own ass. (I'm not excluding females, just specifying at the moment.)
I hate Elvis Costello on Jenny Lewis's new record.
That's just not right.

I bought 7 CDs the past week.
I feel okay about that.

Oh oh oh.

No no no.

GUESS WHAT?!

I saw him! I did! I did! I did!

The show was good, I'm pleased. I didn't get any pictures (at all) because I forgot to bring a camera, and Kaylee brought her's, but her's is a professional camera (technically) and we didn't even think about, you know, not being able to bring it in. We got a good parking spot and paid a whole whole lot less than a lot of people did for parking. The weather was nice, so even though our walk wasn't more than two or three blocks, it was nice out. I'm just listing things, I feel like. There were a lot of people in skinny jeans, plaid shirts, and cowboy boots (mostly guys, but girls dressed that way too. Only girls mixed it up, and wore skirts and dresses...with boots, everyone--even me--had boots on.) There was a transvestite. The show was not even close to selling out, I'm betting that I'll have to drive next time I want to see him.
He played like two and a half hours, and it was magical, in the corniest of terms. He played a bunch of stuff that I love*, and some new stuff, and randomly "Note to Self: Don't die" (it probably wasn't random, but it felt random, in the midst of the set) and that song just makes me think of Parker Posey, who I don't like at all. I was especially happy with the appearence of Please Do Not Let Me Go, Rescue Blues (which his moniter messed up during and he had to start over, the 'nati booed--not ME though.), Cold Roses, Off Broadway, Meadowlake Street, and Come Pick Me Up. Only because these are particular favorites (like Jane Austen).
There was some dude in the second balcony (right above us) who peridically smoked...(The Taft is an old theatre, and has been nonsmoking for some time, reguardless of the fact that EVERY venue in Ohio IS nonsmoking)...and he was smoking pot.
YAY RYAN ADAMS!

I don't think "The Cardinals" liked us (as the crowd). There was almost a ten minute wait for the Encore. But! I don't care! I loved it!! It was amazing!! Hahahahaha.
I'm grateful to have gone. And seen Ryan Adams :)

I really meant to be all narrative and complete and overbearing in this entry. But it didn't work out.


*I love it all, duh.

A very very short overview of my day. Beginning yesterday:

Last night I felt like death. I laid on my floor staring at my ceiling, and not in some philosophical, daydreamy way; it was a not really sure how I got there, but I don't think I can get up oh my I need a tissue but they're all the way over there way. I've got a cold.
Being the mellodramatic person I am, I thought that I was certainly painfully ill and should be bed-ridden, and took a long bath and acted as pathetic as possible. That is until about eleven thirty when I was showing my mom how to burn CDs and was more lively than I have been in the past seventy-two hours; but that is absolutely besides the point.
I slept in sweats, which normally I cannot stand. Normally it's shorts and a tank top or nothing (figure of speech! haaaaa.) But last night I was so cold and having had a cold feeling. I may've died otherwise. I tossed and turned and was really annoyed everytime I noticed a song on my ipod playing that I didn't want to hear and had to get out of my warm nest to change it, up until I fell asleep in an uncomfotably sickly state.
This morning was full of accomplishments: getting out of bed, score 500 for the team; taking a shower AND it only lasting 10 minutes AND getting dressed afterwards AND drying my hair, score 700; taking medicine and getting out the door, score-too many points to count. The only problem with my award winning morning (considering the circumstances,) was that the medicine I took was the drowsy-make-you-sleepy-kind! Oh man!
So here's a lesson everyone, driving on the highway + boring sociology class + drowsy sudafed = bad idea! I about died driving home, like, seriously. I got back on the highway to come home, and I ended up going north becuase I was too lazy to get out of the right lane (or, not coherrent enough, probably.) and just kept going. I'm very lucky I got gas because, well, when I really noticed where I was going...I was pretty much in Norwood. I got off at Kenwood, ate McDonalds. I would've walked around Kenwood, if I would've taken advantage of being up there, but actually I probably couldn't've walked. I made it home about an hour and a half later (???) and collapsed COLLAPSED on my couch. And barely came to when my dad came in, and slept for like four uninterrupted hours. Whoa!
So that was my morning, how was your day?
--------------------------------------------

Listen to Fleet Foxes, Noah and The Whale, Bombay Bicycle Club, Slow Club and Florence and the Machine; I did, and I think you'll agree it will turn out in your favor.

No Office tonight because of the VP debates! Oh dang!
I would MUCH MUCH rather have my mother wondering around complaining about Michael Scott's awkwardness than raving over Sarah Palin. And how Obama is a demon or something.
I wish the uninformed wouldn't make comments, for real.

I love Wait Wait don't tell me, and Mo Rocca, and being involved with each other. :)

Only...like... 20 more hours til Ryan Adams. Woohoo!

Also, I've managed to get myself roped into Relient K...Anyone want to come with me?
Yeah, I thought not...

OH, my love, we'll see each other soon...

Or, I'll see you, from the balcony, and that's all that will matter.

That's all that matters this week at all...

ALL THE MATTERS.

Just kidding. But that's the important thing this week. Radams!

"You aren't crazy Hannah, you're pretty." -Earl Young

I spend, roughly, 10 hours a week at school; I spend, roughly, 40 hours a week at the mall.
--------------------------------------------------------------

I've been thinking a lot lately about the future; not that I don't think about the future a lot, and fairly often, I do, it's just a different kind of thinking right now.
Two years ago I thought I knew exactly what I was doing with my life: I was going to go to Master's Commission, I was going to become a Youth Pastor; in the grand scheme of things the first year I'd spend getting close to G-d, memorizing bible verses, performing in dramas, not thinking about the future, not realizing anyone around me, just G-d, I wouldn't have noticed the cute (probably blonde, probably thin, --remember this was the "plan"/fantasy-- probably wore a lot of vintage t-shirts, probably cried when he talked about prophetic dreams he had at age 14) boy who had undoubtably fallen for me and my artsy brand of G-d-loving. We'd date the second year, we'd get married, we wouldn't love anyone else. This situation (minus, you know, specifics) seemed literally inevitable. I'd have to give up listening to The Beatles and Ryan Adams and The Beach Boys and learn to love the Newsboys' newest worship album because secular music wasn't allowed and I wouldn't really fall in love, I'd fall in contentment, I'd do what I said I was going to do in the eighth grade.
This was going to suck.
Then, a year later I thought I had no idea what I was doing. I went to Northern and I didn't really want to, but knowing me, I settled. I screwed up by second semester and I got right back in the same situation I was in during high school (emotionally speaking). I hadn't made friends (hardly), I hated two thirds of my jobs (yes, two thirds.)

Now I am level. I don't know what I am doing and I hate it. I know, I'm nearly twenty, in the grand scheme of life (I noticed that is the second instance in which I've used the phrase "in the grande scheme of..." it's like when I used "More of less." at the end of every sentence (more of less) last year. I'm aware of over using it, but I can't come up with a better phrase (or, ha, word for "phrase") I'm ridiculous.) that is not a lot of time. I was GOING to be a journalist, but that seemed unreasonable, I am APPARENTLY going to be a teacher. Newsflash: I hate school. Why would I want to do that? I don't get myself at all. But! That's not what I was talking about, in my initial train of thought.
("INTERJECTION! SHOWS EXCITEMENT! OR EMOTION! & are generally set apart from a sentence by an exclaimation point! or, a period, when the feeling's not as strong!")
I was talking about the future. And how I think about it too much, I don't notice it happening.

I hate to be old fashioned, but my future ideas hardly have to do with my career. I just want to be happy, and I just want to love. I used to think that being really smart would get me anywhere I wanted in life, it would get me intelligent friends, job, hobbies, ect; which it would, yes, but I don't think it would make me happy. I love knowledge: I love to read and write and think and learn, but I love to serve more. I love to love more. Those are the things that make me happy. I live my life terrified most of the time, but when I'm working at the beanery and making people smile if the only time I'm not scared of anything, or when I'm helping someone do something at school, or anywhere--I'm more confident than ever. And that's really weird for me.

My future is a blur. I think too hard.
All I know is I want three things:
I want to love G-d more than anything in the world; I want to just love love love.
And I want to get married to someone who has a killer record collection.

Lolly lolly lolly get your adverbs here.

Quickly! Quickly! Quickly!



--------------------------

I wish that people would just talk to each other like we like each other and we're grown up enough to act like it? That wasn't really a question initially, right? Right, best be brushing up on my grammer.

And my "Not having awkward conversations" etiquitte, I seem to be lacking in that area, awkward conversations are all I do!

I'm really terrible at writing anymore; I don't really feel like I'm writing to my potential.

I'll try again soon.

Also: The Elms were at Northern the other day, in Landrum. I left early and by the time I got to my car and my CD player shorted out (that doesn't take very long...) and got onto the highway (and, and, and!) and everything, I heard that Owen Thomas and Nate Whatever of the The Elms, just about the band I've liked the longest time, was there, in the hallway I always walk through. Oh dear.

Oh dear.



I love that commercial , where the guy is in the job interview, but he has a stain on his shirt, so everytime he opens his mouth the stain just makes jumbling foreign noises.

Gets me EVERY time!



I'm a loser.

And, work was good.

Hipsters in a house; thanks theselby.com!

There are very few things I find more enjoyable in life than American Apparel cotton clothing, Johnathan Tropper Novels, Soy coffee drinks and cream cheese flavored things; by things I mean, you know, muffins. I love these things. I also love driving around Cincinnati, listening to The Flight of the Conchords and laughing with Sara. And my short hair, and weekendings.

I never update this.

Becuase I don't want to talk about my life.

I was dropped from my english class, and that kind of blows.

And, you should listen to the Blue Album (self-titled) by Weezer over and over and over again, because it's the kind of album anyone could love.

Don't mess with me.

Don't do it.

Things that I like a lot:

-Records
-Coffee
-Good talks
-good music
-good weather
-laughter
-Jack Kerouac
-staying up late
-talks about God and spirituality in a realistic and comforting way

All these things are good and all of them were part of my night tonight; this is good because I haven't been doing well, I woke up in hysterical tears the other night and tonight's record listening party with Brian and Fred was proper medicine.

Thanks Fellas.

I'm going

to Cornerstone, in two days.
Oh deary me.

I think that I'm sunburnt.

So. Today has been crappy. In fact, I cannot think of one good thing this whole week.

I ran out of gas, today I got sun burnt while trying to read outside (while my neighbors were having a really loud party at 2 in the afternoon, which really unfortunately included a male stripper. I only heard, and saw afterwards when I was going to get something out of my car.)
I wasted a lot of gas and money yesterday.
I've been waiting for months. But, then I remember it's always like this, and I'm always the one who doesn't matter. Why am I such an idiot?
I kind of miss Fred, lately. But that makes sense right? I mean, missing someone who is your friend makes sense? Of course it does.
The saddest part is that we pretend to talk all the time.

I hate when you really want to find something out, but then you do, and it's really anticlimactic.

If I'm not listening to you read out loud from some stupid magazine. And I'm typing at the same time you're talking to me (interupting me, rather) I probably don't care what you have to say.
Can't you tell that I don't care? Can't you tell that I'm typing on a computer and NOT looking at you? I don't care about it, shut up.
This entry is cut short 1) I have nothing else to say, or expand on politely and 2) C*r*, my coworker (name withheld), won't shut up and let me alone.

argh, shut up.

"Looks like SOMEONE got in a fight with a tanning bed..and lost."

That someone is Jimmy Brady.


I got a cell phone charger fo' free!
And by free I mean ten bucks.
Suckassssssss.
That looks like suck ass.
Sorry about that.

Thoughts on work, at the beanery:

I want to open all the time.

I don't want to close anymore.

That's all.

Alternate universe of Ohio.

Ohio is better. There is no question here. I like it more. I want to live there more.
They have prettier liscense plates too.
Plus, Kenwood towne center is like the alternate universe of Florence mall. It's slightly awesome. There are the same stores, only bigger (and more stores, but whatevs.) And there are the same kiosks only more.
And the israeli's have a big one that's almost like a store, which verizon has a little kiosk like tmobile. Though, the employees of verizon and the israelis are the saaaaame.
How weird is that?
Very weird.
And when I walked by, and they saw me it was like "Whoa! Wrong Mall, Lady!!"

It was fun.
Also: you must be attractive to work at apple.
and Sara makes great caricatures of exes. Convincing ones. The one of Wes was dead on.
And Cliff, beautiful. Relatively. For what it was.

And Graeters is great. It should be renamed Greaters. Because, then it would sound the same only be a fun. Like "Great (er's) Ice Cream"
Ha, I am clever.
Not.


It's hot out.

Humidity is a killer.

You may've been the last person I wanted to see, so it was good that you chickened out and drove by. You're stupid white van, and my stupid job, pulling that stupid cart in in the sticky weather we had today. Good riddence to the both of you. I hope you're very happy not being together though totally are together together. To be honest, it kind of freaks me out.
Though, if you had decided to brave whatever wrath I'm certainly not going to bestow upon you, I would've wanted (but wouldn't've) to tell you to tell your not boyfriend boyfriend that texting me is stupid, and he shouldn't do that anymore. I'm not being a jerk, it's just that I don't have anything nice to say. And I am my grandmother, and if there's nothing nice to say just say nothing at all.

Anyhow, now that that awkward narative is out of my system; I've really got nothing else to say. Today there was a tornado warning and I missed it. I was in the shower.
I also reorganized my CDs (or, my 'tunes', which is halfway lame enough for me to say.) in my CD case. There are so many holes. Like, CDs that I'm like "What the heck? Why don't I have them?!" Like, for instance: Revolver. Why don't I own it?
I don't know.
And, also, I don't have enough room even for all the CDs I have.
I need another CD case, but so so many more CDs.
Anyway.
My life is certainly uneventful. I watched Juno just now, with my sister. It kind of really pissed me off, indirectly.


Please and Thank You.

I listened to a lot of This American Life and Ok Go today. It rained. Today didn't suck.

Something about paper dolls and what men prefer.

"Something about the cross, and how her Jesus died for her... something about love and how it's worth fighting for, I wonder if that love exists anymore..."

I really love these three songwriters.

Together.

(denison whittmer, sufjan stevens and rosie thomas.)

Rosie Thomas's album with them, These Friends of Mine (sheesh, to have those friends?!)
is so fantastic, I can't stop listening to it.

Anyway, work today sucked.

Aw.

Nice things in the past few days, a few things that have cut through the other stuff:

-Getting to work on Satuday with Alex and Kaytee.
-my new New York purse (fancy and coach. Well. Not really, but it looks like a coach.)
-taste of Cincinnati with Sara.
-Belian Waffles
-the curly haired boy selling the belgian waffles
-milk shakes, even if it made me want to die that night.
-talking to Jane on the phone.
-my new Rosie Thomas CD, is so so good.
-Working a long shift, with fun people. (Jen, Jenni, and Courtney--people I didn't used to like...sadly.)
-Funny stories that make you cringe and laugh really hard.
-Jimmy saving the day and putting up the sign.
-compliments on the fancy new list of hot teas that I made, it's pretty.
-Hugs from Earl, despite the creepy.
-Listening to good music, and drinking sinful sundae all night.
-Talking about my cough"future husband at verizon" and getting interrupted by some customers I had to help, speak of the devil.
-Aw, I want him to be ugly, so I can stop looking at him, but he isn't. Hahahaha. He has a really nice voice.
---(I need to find a guy LIKE him, but not him.)
-Then I got sick, and that's no fun.

But, Sunday and Monday were nice days.

I'm making a mix, so far, this is it:
1.Hoarding it for home-Mates of State
2.Engine Heart-Mirah
3.Wedding Day-Marla Hansen
4.Much Farther now to go-Rosie Thomas
5.Wild is the Wind-Cat Power
6.A Stone-Okkervil River
7.Emile's vietnam in the sky-Elvis Perkins
8.O, ohio-The National Lights

I'm thinking I want four more songs.
Who should I give it to? (no one, this is a mix for a pretty boy and I don't know any of those.)
So, I'll listen to it, in my car, and pretend like I have someone to give it to.

I have to go to a library "PAGE TEAM MEETING!!!"
Ew, note to self:don't sit beside Paris this time. Maybe I won't be the example for everything bad anymore.

"I think that I'm in love with you." "Oh."

Dreams are very weird.
I do not think I enjoy the feeling that they leave me with sometimes, it's kind of achey; but odd, because, it isn't anything real, despite feeling so. Other times, they leave me very very happy. Like, a good feeling, but a feeling laced with a "Damn, that didn't really happen." feeling.
Sometimes, I have both of these feelings simutaneously, and I think my head is going to explode.
Damn, that didn't happen. Good.
I wish someone would be in love with me, and I'd be able to muster up more than an "oh."
And that it would be in real life, and I would be awake.
Though, enough about that, pretty lady, it's summertime.

I make a lot of lists, lately. I usually make lists when I'm upset with something, and I have been lately, so I guess it all makes perfect sense. But yes, a lot of lists. Lately.
I don't know where I'm going with this... precisely. But it's the truth.
And I've made a mental list in my head of the cellphone salesman in the mall; I'm not joking.
Ones that are nice, ones that are cute, ones that are cute but not nice, and ones that are nice and cute: those are the catagories.
No, I will not share it with you. Because it is lame, and I am lame, and there are still a few people that I do not know where to put, like Jimmy. We're like, friendly or something.
I hate the AT&T kiosk, though.
It's very confusing.

I need to find a new job. I need to register for classes. I need to schedule an ortho appointment. I need to put money in my savings' account. I need to run tomorrow. I need to reorganize my CD case. I need to ignore this dream. I need to try and actually accomplish things on my summer "to do" list this year. I need to get a haircut. I need to stop drinking so much caffiene so late. I need to buy things from the store, that I actually need not want. I need a reason to wear my new pants. I need to not have crushes on people I don't know anymore. I need to meet new people. I need to read my bible more. I need to get over Fred, whatever that means. I need to stop crying over nothing. I need to not stay up so late. I need to go to Barnes and Noble. I need to buy 'Get Happy' by Elvis Costello on CD. I need to clean my room. I need to find someone to watch Hitchcock movies with.

You thought I was kidding about the lists, didn't you? Don't doubt me.


Um. Okay. I have attention deficit disorder, apparently. (no, I knew it already.)
It's three am. That's not a good time to be awake with your thoughts.

mirah, i dig your tunes.

"You have a cute hair...cut?"

It may or may not be Michael, and to be honest, I'm thinking it's not. I think Michael is the other guy, but that's just me... Haha.

---------------------------------



So. Fun times, crazy days:
I saw Okkervil River live last week, it kind of made my life a little bit better. Or, maybe a lot better. I don't know, either way, definitely improved.

The Turnbull ACs were the openers (well, there was a another opening band, but they sucked) and they were great. But they always are.

Um. I also saw a bunch of Tooth and Nail pop punkers at a big church the other day.

Not that it changes my life or anything, it really didn't. I've seen Hawk Nelson before, and even when I could tolerate (even enjoy, a little) bands of that persuasion, and I didn't like them then. I sure don't really give a crap about them now. Well, unless they're flirting with me... (storystorystory:)





So, I more or less was mostly asleep throughout the entire show, there were comfortable chairs, and I was tired, and I can sleep through almost anything. I'm kind of immune to loud pumping basslines anymore. All the bands sounded the same, though, HN tended to talk more during their set then the others. I think because headliners can do whatever they want.

Anyhow, I was just waiting for it to be finished, and it took forever to be finished. Like two hours. And I felt a little like a jerk, sitting down first of all, no one else really was, not even the parents...but you know, I wasn't an over-zealous parent trying to "fit in" with the younger "generation", I am part of the younger gen, and I like good music, but I digress. Not only was I sitting down during the show, whic is fairly unheard of at a "punk rawk (christian-pop-rock) tooth n' nail show", I was reading during set changes. Reading. And you know what reading material I had? I had Paste magazine. Paste magazine, it doesn't get much more indie-elitist than that, and actually maintain semi-decent writing. I was sitting there, reading why Ben Gibbard has no issue with being famous and why he wants to be Kerouac, and I thought 'dang, I wish I had my book with me...' But you know what book I had? The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. I should just've pasted (haha, punny) 'wanna be elitist snob' on my face. But, really digression, unnecessary.



After the show, we got in line for autographs. I was not actually intending to get one, I was just standing in line with them, hopding the spot for the girls (Hope and her friend Stephanie) to get autographs from the opening bands, but not lose their spots in the big line to Hawk Nelson.

Hope wanted them to sign...everything. Her shirt, her papers, another paper for a friend... Which wouldn't have been a big deal, had we not been threatened with not being able to "take up too much of their time" they were "very tired". It was barely ten at night, and all I can say is, if you can't roll with the big dogs, don't be a rock band. I don't care, just because you're Christians doean't mean you are uncapable of signing things and taking pictures with a bunch of preteens. It's part of the deal! But that's just my opinion. When it was our turn, I decided that, for the good of the team, I'd get an autograph too. So we could have an extra one, because they acted like they couldn't autograph everything that Hope wanted them too. And I laid it on thick.

Each of the guys got a good dose of guilt: "Thank you so much, I really appreciate you doing this, it means a lot that you're giving us some of your time to sign these, thanks really! This is so great! blah blah blah." I can turn on the charm that makes money when I need to. Mostly I was ignored only slightly less than the other people in line, I managed a "You're really welcome" or two, eye contact from one of the guys, and then I got to the end of the line.



I was wearing this ancient Relient K shirt I have, I mostly sleep in it because it's comfy, and wouldn't wear it out...um, ever. It's a pretty funny shirt, you know, the four guys that were RK in 2001 or something wearing funny costumes. But it's old. And I don't really listen to them anymore. But, anyhow, I was wearing that because my sister wanted me to "fit in", you know, with everyone else wearing their HN gear. So I get to the last guy in line and he glances up and sees my shirt, and hears my appreciation that's as faux as his 'hawk haircut, and says (excitedly) "Dude!! I had that shirt in high school!!" and I say...like a cool kid....
"Haha...me to..."

And then, I swear I must've been glowing because there is no other excuse for his adoring stare, he looks me in the eye and his voice totally changes. It turns soft and sweet, hints of flirtation all over the place:
"...Oh,....hiii...." his syllables all stretched out. I was confused.
"Hey. Uh." I am retarded mostly.

"I like your...uh...your um...hair.....cut? That was weird, I'm sorry. I mean, I like your hair? I guess that's what I mean.... I mean...I mean....You're...uh. Yourecute. Yeah....you're cute, and uh, thanks a lot for coming. Did you like the show? I hope so. I always hope that girls like you...I mean, everyone, but uh, cute girls? Yeah? Cute girls like the show...did you?"
OH. My. gosh. What?

"I loved it. Thanks, no that's not weird, I like your haircut too." Sometimes I wonder who I am. I wonder who is saying things like this. I couldn't do it again. Also, I am a liar, apparently. I didn't do anything remotely close to love it.

He smiles, he's digging on me, and my shirt and hair cut. I'm cute. awww.


Then the guy next to him nudges him, and smiles at me,
"Sorry to break this up, dude, but, uh, you're holding up the line a little bit."
Our eyecontact breaks and I see about 25 angry 13 year old girls in Hawk Nelson is my best friend t-shirts giving me the death stare; they knew my secret, they knew I was the one laying sudoku on my phone during the show, they knew I didn't deserve this.
My sister and her friend were already gone by the time I got out of the line.

"Who was the guy on the end?!" I asked, kind of frantically, a huge smile on my face.
"Whyyyyyy? You think he was cuuuuuute?" my sister is a very obnoxious person, very twelve.
"Uh, kinda ... but mostly he thought I WAS."



and that's why my night didn't totally suck, and was funny. And.

Um.

----------------------------



Michael? I hope so.

I'm not above it.

I just want you to care about me, because honey, I care about you.

Today was weird.

School was weird.
I felt weird.
My car was acting weird.
Work was weird.
Jen A was back at work, and she quit, so that was weird.
I had no customers all night. No customers means no tips.
I only made two dollars.


A guy from Verizon came in and then left before saying a word to me, and totally bought cookies upstairs. He even came back the long way, and walked upstairs, and back down the only way he wouldn't have to walk past the bean.
Then walked by later and said "I'm really bummed you don't have any cookies! Oh man, I had to buy expensive ones."
Even he felt like he was cheating on me, buying cookies from Great American Cookie (even though those are so much better.) I mean come on, V-guy, you haven't talked to me in three weeks, it's a little depressing.


Fred and ANDEE (SEE THAT ANDEE? ANDEEEE??? WHAT THE FU--- nevermind.)
Came in RIGHT BEFORE nine, which was annoying. He is so so so stupid sometimes, it kills me. So I texted him that I hoped he was going to be okay, and that he has to realize that she's going to hurt his feelings. So he called me tonight when I got home to tell me how much he appreciated that I care enough about him to look out for him, but they are really good friends now.
Which is nice, that he appreiates me. But I really don't want to have basketcase Fred on my hands. Oh well.

I think I'm going to Kansas City next semester.
I think I'm going to see Okkervil River and Black Rebel Motorcycle club this month. (Not together, but the Turnbull ACs are playing with Okkervil, which is neat.) (Who knew that there were NOT crappy bands that came to madhatter, who knew?)

I don't know how.

What kind of confusion cannot I withstand? This kind, the kind that I'm feeling at this moment; this kind that is screaming at me that I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life. The kind that has been wondering if I've totally messed up or if things are okay. I have no clue, and it's terrifying.

I cannot withstand.

"And he really said 'holla', not joking."

I'm ready for summer.

I'm ready to ... ugh.

Dave said he's going to hook me up with Verizon guy....hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

No.

Verizon Guy loves me ALL ON HIS OWN. Doesn't Dave get that? (no.) and (he doesn't love me, but one day he will.)

Sometimes I push things.

<<<<---

I got this today.
Only, I have a bigger... you know, butt.

I liiiiike it.
I'm wearing it to work tomorrrrrrow.

And monday. Because I need to look good. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Like I said pushing things (stupid things) too far.

Going to a Wedding in two days, have nothing to wear.
But I do have : an iPod shuffle. Named Etienne.

Annnnd, I don't like how blogger posts pictures.

Time to close down the library.

Hopefully not too many more days of this...

LOVE YOU. SRSLY.

I've seen those English Dramas too, they're cruel.

I have a lot of beginnings of things written, very few endings though.

Spring Break has come and gone, and it's not even remotely spring-like out yet; though, it had been raining for two days, that's a fairly characteristically spring-like thing, isn't it? It's sunny out today. I thought it would be warmer, but it isn't yet; in a round about way I'm saying that I didn't dress warm enough to endure the walk onto campus very well. I always forget that just because WNKU says that it'll be warm doesn't mean it'll actually be warm at NKU. They may be on campus, but they're giving weather for the whole greater Cincinnati area, and that campus is always colder and windier than anywhere else.
I'm more or less complaining because I forgot my scarf.

----------------

Kansas City was pretty good; I got a record player.

Wednesday was a fun day, minus the fact that I burnt my hand really bad with soy foam (further reason why I hate it.) I had no class (well one, but whatever) but I was meeting Jane at Northern after 2ish, so I stayed on campus for awhile. Until I got too bored and decided to leave and walk around at Crestview. I bought rain shoes at DSW, they're like rain boots, only not boots, shoes. They're rubber. But hounds tooth pattern, and cute.
Then I went to Goodwill, and sifted through a ridiculous amount of awful Christmas records.
I looked cute, I was wearing a hat and a cute coat. There was an almost cute wannabe hipster guy looking through the tshirts (how typical) who kept looking at me obviously.
It was a little creepy, but kind of fulfilling in the long run.
Since LPs are a dollar (and most times not even worth that, at goodwill) I bought three.

Carole King's Tapestry album, Bing Crosby Sings his favorites album, and the Bay City Rollers (s-a-t-u-r-d-a-y night.) I am just happy because I can play them.

After my little record buying excursion, I came home; then I went back to crestview (gasgasgasgas) and met up with Jane in Borders and bought the new Adam Green. He is weird, and I haven't listened to it yet.
She bought The Life Pursuit by Belle and Sebastian so we listened to that really loud in the car.

Then we went to the mall, I spilled really really hot foamy soy milk on my hand, and about an hour later I thought my hand was going to fall off, though, it didn't hurt that much when I did it.
(Run. On. Sent. Ence.)
Jane saw my "future husband" (laugh track...now.) thought not well.
saw Sara. Miss her.
Went to the Antique mall, which was so disappointing. There was a copy of Highway 61 revisited by Bob Dylan at the booth where I bought my Beach Boys' records, for ten dollars. I held back.
I hope that it's there next time I go.

Then Jane had to go home.
I went to the play at Ryle with Fred; Alex and Brian were in it, and we know them. If you can believe it, we missed half of it. Haha, we were only 8 minutes late.
We sat outside talking about nothing for the first hour and a half. I told Fred about how I was so stupid and over filled the espresso pot (that I shouldn't have been making to begin with, we aren't supposed to brew espresso) and how the jude law guy (verizon guy, my future husband, all the same thing) was standing there when I realized what I had done.
--He probably thinks I'm the clumsiest barista ever; which may be true. But it seems like he's there when I mess things up a lot, like I'm in the process of messing them up, and he walks up after the fact. So it really has nothing to do with him.

The play was funny, though I had no clue what was going on til the ending. I think that Alex was probably the funniest part of the whole thing.
The princess in the play's name was Fred.

Afterwards we talked to Alex and Brian in the lobby; they were really happy that we came. So I'm pretty much glad we did, it ended up being a really fun night. When Brian turned around and saw Fred is voice went up about 5 octaves and he engulfed Fred in a hug; which was funny because Brian is about a foot taller than Fred, and he really swallowed him up. He didn't see me at first so he was just talking to Fred and then saw me out of the corner of him eye and freaked out some more and attacked me with this huge hug as well.
I like it when people are happy because they've seen you. I don't think there's really anything much better.

Um, yesterday sucked and I almost got fired from the stupid ass library.
Today is Friday; Alex, Fred and I are seeing a Beatles' tribute band at the main branch of the stupid ass library.

There's a part time youth services (ie-Children's) position open at Main; I have to look at the hours and days, and really think about what I want to do. If I want to move up to that, or if I want to quit and try and get a job somewhere else.
I am suddenly really out of money. Really.
And my hours are being cut more. This is not good.

this was a long entry. I thought it was well due.

"I like sundresses, and hanging out wit my freeeendz at the mallz."

"Lists of things that make them really happy."
Apart from the semi-elitist-critical-condescending tone of my blocked off digressions (that I wrote, that were ridiculously long and wordy and, well, stupid. So I erased them to be blocked off only in my mind) I like the idea of these lists. And I enjoy sundresses.

I like to be happy, I want nothing more than to be happy, and you have to understand, I suffer from chronic depression so being happy, things that make me happy, are extremely big deals.
What makes me happy, when it comes to little things? What causes uncontrollable smiles?
You know, probably recently, because I can't remember everything, but, yeah.
This is what:

The Beatles. Why I listen to Pop music.

The Albums Pet Sounds, Smiley Smile, and Wild Honey by the Beach Boys. If I am listening to Carl Wilson rip the words "Sweeter than Honey!" out of his chest, I cannot be sad. I cannot not dance. A little.

When we have Sinful Sundae as the flavor of the day, at work when I'm working; first I just like explaining it, and talking about it, because it has a fun name, and most people like chocolate and the sound of the name too. Also because I like to drink it, with vanilla soy milk.

When I realized that the senior guy who was cute when i was a freshman, and had a "crush", have you, on, goes to college with me, and I see him.

Cripsy Chicken Sandwiches with swiss, extra lettuce, mayo and honey mustard from Wendy's.

That time that Uri kept giving me "free shoulder massages" and hugs all night.

Talking about getting married and being grown up.

Antique malling.

Working at the coffee beanery, with awesome people.

Packages in the mail, postcards, ect. Even though, I can't return the favor very promptly.

Emails, personal ones, like letters. And "Penpals" and "Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo's"

Laying on the floor and listening to records, preferably with someone, though that rarely happens, it's absolutely wonderful when it does.

The sound of Rosie Thomas's voice, cutting through the thick summer air.

Well, I guess lots of things.

Email from a favorite teacher.

A few lines of flotsam and jetsam about, oh journalism, how interesting... blah blah.
Then it's signed MP.
Then, hahahahahahaha. it says (copy and pasted for accuracy):



"I cant hear or see Elvis Costello and not think of you"


Oh. Man. If you ever doubted the "I thought of you my whole way home..." story, here's proof of it's validity.

True romance, when you dance.

Chan Marshall. Today, I love you.

asdklfjasldkfj. You are Free is such a good album.

What?

I hate parties. I hate partying. I don't want to get drunk with you.
I won't. You can't make me.

I'm in control of the situation, tough luck, honeys.



I'll just sit at home and listen to the beach boys, because it makes me fell endlessly temporarily better.



I still like you. And I don't want to.



I feel gross and ugly and terrible.

I am cryptic and weird.
I think I'll eat dinner.

"Can you hear me now? Gooood."

Conversation had last night at work that put me a better mood that I was in.

Verizon guy: Aw, these [iced sugar cookies, you know the doughy kind from kroger] are adorable. I have to get one, just have to. To go with my "Sinful" coffee [Sinful Sundae was the flavor yesterday, when I told him that, he says "Sounds delightfully naughty, not terrible, just enough. You've convinced me to get some." I just said it was kind of chocolately tasting]

Hannah: They are pretty adorable, I mean, they're great. I just wrapped them. Just for you to have with your coffee.

VG: Oh, I know you just wrapped them. I was watching you do it before. [in the LEAST creepy way possible. And if it was creepy, I wouldn't mind to be honest.]

Hannah: Yeah, just for you. Hahahahahaha. [signifying awkward laughing]

VG: Yess ma'am then, I'll have this cookie that's been wrapped for me, that's almost as adorable as the person who wrapped them.

aslkdjfaskhfaskdfasldjfasdf.

You have to understand. I stare at this guy on Mondays, he's pretty dang attractive. I joke about how we're getting married to the other girls, when they talk about their crushes on varoius (coughzachcough) cell phone provider employees. He came to the beanery 3 times. Last night.
He's most likely 27 or something and married. And is a salesman, so flirting is more or less his job, but STILL.

That's all for this one.

Forest Casual, for the Leafy Gent.

I am sitting at my computer, I am going through an entire year of a mediocre MP3 blog's posts and dowloading everything that has a semi interesting band name or that I've heard of (which is, sadly, 98.583762% of it) (wouldn't you laugh if I somehow could figure that out mathematically, and I was right?) (I would).
Sometimes I try so hard to be gramatically correct and I'm not. Like now.


I'm addicted to attention: this is a funny point to make about myself, I hate attention. I hate at christmastime when everyone is watching me open a present, and they expect me to react and I don't. I hate when I have to answer a question in class. But if you said hello to me out of the blue, I'd be thrilled with it and you for literally hours, comment me on facebook/myspace? it's the greatest moment in the world, and don't even get me started on if you texted me for no reason other than to say hi? Cloud freaking nine, honey.
I love seeing people places who know who I am, I love waves from across the hall, and I love it when people go out of their way to talk to me. Which is weird because I certainly don't act like it, but it's an addiction none the less. The majority of the anxiety (socially speaking) I have comes from people NOT talking to me. Not paying attention to me. I want to be noticed, but probably noticed for being understated, you understand? Me either.

But we had a killer record collection!!

I had this dream the other night, and it was really strange.
In my dream I was living in this really cute house, and it was all decked out exactly how I'd imagine my grown up house would be, the walls were a nice warm grey (don't understand my draw to this shade, but none the less) and there were all these oversized black and white photographs that I love on the walls. It was clean and plain, and there was entire room dedicated to the most fabulous LP collection ever. (I mean, we're talking Rob Gordon proportions here.) And this great stereo.
And I was pretty happy, and content and thought this was cool.

Until I found out that I was "married" to my pop culture teacher from high school.
Yeah, for SOME reason in my dream, I was married to Mr. Poiry.

Though, I didn't freak out or anything. The initial shock of what was going on passed. And I thought the whole thing was seemingly normal.
We just were being normal. Going to work and doing semi-fun dull things on the weekends. (I sort of saw my life all panned out, and I just subconsciously was aware of how things worked, you see? I frequently have drawn out detailed dreams like that) We had dinner parties. Where we did 50's style things, I wore cute dresses and heels and cooked dinner.
And listened to our killllller LP collection. With our adult friends.
Oh man.

Now, the thing you have to understand (that is, if you aren't most of the females I knew from high school) that lots of girls LOVE Mr. Poiry, they would LOVE to marry Mr. Poiry (or slightly less commital things...) but ME? I was never one of them. I mean, I liked him as a teacher a whole lot, pretty much my favorite teacher I think. And,
He did tell me once, though, that he thought of me his whole way home because he heard an Elvis Costello song* on the radio; and he and I had the same favorite beatles' song**. But I digress.
I don't/didn't/ever/will have a crush on Poiry.
And so it's not this awkward dream come true sort of dream.
It's just an awkward dream.

My sub-conscious worries me.


I can't believe I was like a 50's housewife.












*Allison, was the song, I'm pretty sure. Which, oddly enough is one of my favorite songs.
**A day in the Life, last track of SPLHCB, if you were wondering, which you wern't.

Mass Crushes.