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.


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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!