Sugar Shock
July 11, 2009 at 5:04 am (diary) (boys, carrying on, creepy guys, delight, disgust, food, health, love, materialism, minor plans, real life, the great plan, whining)
Electric blue nails. A little bit gobby. Watching Zombie Nightmare. A smidge sick to my stomach. Guess it’s time to talk about another aspect of the Great Plan.
It may involve two weeks of no nonsense health. I think it needs a little strictness because I have been all over the fucking map. I’ve also met caramel macchiato ice cream which is most regrettable indeed. I feel, I hesitate to say it so plainly, but I need to get back on the old rickety wagon. Water, walking, biking, not living in perpetual sugar shock and drifting in an out of this boy-crazy, exhausted, wounded dream state. I’m sick of licking my wounds, frankly. The Great Plan requires me to take a stock of this anyway, on the path to super-happy-foreverness, so now is as good a time as any. I mean, sure we’re going to the Renaissance Faire on Sunday, where if you want to eat there’s cruddiness a’plenty. It all sounds fairly like the precursor to a night of worship at the porcelain altar right now. It’s smarter anyways to just drink a shitload of water (lovely image, there) and have some string cheese and whatever I can get in and try and do the best I can. I’ve never been a giant turkey leg kind of girl, really. It’s more the point to people-watch and swan around in a dress and be a part of the whole beloved silliness. And of course, get my cards read. Maybe I can ask about the Great Plan and see if this is the right track or if I need to get more militant about this shit. I don’t want to pay 25 bucks to be told that everything’s fine. It’s not. However, I don’t want to pay 25 bucks and walk away feeling hopeless. It’s a fine line they straddle. I’ve had some shitty ones and some good ones, but I suppose it’s the desire for a disinterested party (aside from the whole me paying them for advice thing) tell me what’s wot. I’ll report back on this.
The night is finally cooling down. I’ve been making a giant mess today. Spilling things and with the heat of the day, I’ve been so unmoved to care.
Got to leave work early and I had a little excursion, hence the electric -nay, “East Village” blue nails. My sister’s down in the dumps and I can’t do anything about it. I’m tired as fuck. Along with all the other psychological rigamarole percolating in my genius brain. I also got a little sorta Daisy Mae peasant top and shorts and blue mary janes and false lashes and some of this sinful ice cream and I’ve promised myself that there will be no getting out of hand after today. I’ll either be really cute tomorrow or terribly gaudy and tragic. It’s a thin line and I straddle it every day.
I’ll also report on if the Farmers Market brings any excitement this week. I’m doubting it. I am hoping for a nice taste of some deadpan, wry and deft humor as opposed to the terrible and horrific and one-sided banter I’ve been exposed to lately. I’m hoping for a few hours of monotone.
Bread and Roses
July 10, 2009 at 6:01 am (diary) (appreciation, boys, carrying on, creepy guys, delight, hope, love, minor plans, real life, waxing poetic)
Strange day. I feel kind of at ease in a way I didn’t yesterday, or maybe haven’t for a while now. It feels like summer, it feels joyful. It feels like how John Denver felt in Aspen. Like there’s air in the lungs and all is worthy of our praise or at least our kindest set of eyes. This includes ourselves. And yet, that air and that praise is spurring me on and bringing me here to the page where I was sure I would be too exhausted to do anything of worth. Maybe that’s true, but I’m here.
Oh, the beauty in the world.
I am wanting to go to the Shakespeare Festival this year. I’ve said this for ages, but I am longing for it. I am longing for the beautiful air and that outdoor stage and that wit so crisp and bright and like a dancing star. I want to go with some nice guy, but there’s a serious shortage of those about these days so I’ll have to go with one of the usual knuckleheads. I saw A Midsummer Night’s Dream there as a child, as a guest of my father’s friends. I felt so grownup and giddy with the atmosphere and the play. It was a 50′s inspired version – Puck as the Fonz – this gorgeous sequence where a girl falls asleep to an old-fashioned radio on a porch swing opened the play and I was drunk on the tipple of it all. It was memorable in every way.
We’re talking about going to the renaissance festival tomorrow. This is traditional. I’m going to wear my dress and get my palm read or my cards read and not worry too much about the rest. I want certain experiences to be certain ways and when they’re not, I get kind of hatesy and bitchy and miserable and a few of these blog postings are reason enough for you to encourage me to stay mellow and just enjoy the cleavage and boys in tragically awkward leather harnesses traipsing across the faire grounds in 90 degree heat and mispronouncing privies. PRY-VEES, you say, m’lord?
It may be said that this is where I got the amber for my magical, eh, not so much?, necklace. Maybe it needs to go back home to be activated. But it was Baltic amber and frankly, I don’t got the airfare, magick necklace so commence with the love powers or GTFO.
Really, I think tonight in my exhaustion (I hung around to make a minor fool of myself at the city council meeting, but what else is new?), I’m feeling fairly good-natured about my situation on the whole.
There’s all these parties to look forward to throughout the summer, too. Galas, second proms, steampunk balls, picnics, barbecues, artist receptions. One where I need a glittering gold dress, in fact. It is a little bit exciting, isn’t it? Even if you’re an invisible girl, it is quite a social calendar to maintain. I’m focusing on the fact that I’ll be able to have whatever time I want to have at all of these things and I can dread them and hide or I can just go.
I can just go.
Ten Pee Em
July 9, 2009 at 5:16 am (diary) (carrying on, creepy guys, lists, nice guys, real life)
Holy mother of mackerel. It is late. I still have to do this. There are rules.
So, a list.
Things I Am Currently in some state of Love with:
1.) The sunsets I see as I drive home. The pink and blue explosion over the Flatirons.
2.) Feeling completely full and satisfied. At least gastrointestinally.
3.) Finally having my Ipod set up to play in my car. 9,000 years in the making, that.
4.) The weekend is now within striking distance. I can taste it and it tastes of blackberry ice cream. I am going to go to the farmers’ market with the monotone man and the nice guy and the creepy guy and watch the absence of sparks fly.
5. This insane commercial for a hearing aid with the completely oblivious grandpa type that’s being shilled by Lee Majors. He literally has his name on this shit. It is this whole Mary Kay compact of electronics to plug into your head.
6. I need to book airfare. This makes me giddy. I’m going to Chicago. I missed having something to look forward to. I love travelling alone. Much prefer it to travelling with the types of people who I’ve travelled with in the past. At least in terms of flying. It’s easier just to manage it all
7. My necklace. Not much of an update to offer regarding that. I see people more in the light of their potential than the absence of the potential while I wear it so I suppose that is good. There’s a bank teller who is so blindingly midwestern and sweet about it that it makes my teeth hurt. In a good way since most of the rest of the tellers are so distracted and pinched in. It’s refreshing.
8. Touched By An Angel. It’s not my fault. I was a strange and anxious little child and this provided some kind of twisted amusement and solace. Now I wonder how many buckets of time I must have had back then that I would choose this to entertain me. A warm glow and you too can be an angel. But there’s no fucking. You have to sign a form.
9. Whitesnake. What? Don’t judge me. I don’t judge you. Much.
10. My poor cat who was trapped in my room all day and still is a chirpy, happy little bug.
11. Swimmers caps that make their heads look so sleek and coniclike bulletheads.
12. Steampunk clothes including my feathered headband. It was homemade so it’s extra-wonderful. I think it makes people slightly nervous about me. Which is my modus operandi.
13. Indie bands’ album art.
14. TVs that know more than me about what I want. Which is, of course, to save the planet.
15. Speaking or typing of that, kiva.org. I love this concept. I need to learn a bit more about it but imagine this! Making a difference all over the world with the chance to get money back.
16. A cold water bath. I’m feeling like Blanche DuBois, like I can’t relax. Might be the summer heat, the sweating, my failing soul, but with a little cold water I get some faith in the world back.
One If By Land
July 5, 2009 at 5:42 am (diary) (boys, carrying on, creepy guys, disgust, irritation, loneliness, love, nice guys, real life, spouting off, the great plan, whining)
I don’t think I’ll have any trouble with five hundred today. But maybe that jinxes it.
I’m riding the red tide today, so I am going to blame some of this on that. But some of this has a blood red source all its own and as I run my mind over its tender delta, I can hear a little scream. I’m so lonesome I could die, a possibly wise man once crooned. I am with you, possibly wise man. Death and this isolation feel akin. I know the latter so well I know its shape in the dark, I know it when it takes my hand.
It is all anniversaries and promises and forever and a day drops me into the deep end of the pool and I drown.
Sorry. Emo.
I really liked him today and I was invisible again. And I said okay. It was reasonable invisibility. I was in a corner with headphones and the day was busy and strained and yet. Yet. I feel like this is going to be the way of it. And I am going to be driven mad as a result. Because I feel like such a non-person, so utterly unwanted and set aside and ordered to cheer everyone else on. Like I’ve been classified a non-combatant. I feel as choppy as these sentences.
I’m having alcohol in bed. A good 4th of July or a really ugly one? I want to stop feeling shitty and emotionally wasteful since there’s no one in the house that’s going to be able to give me any resolution except myself. And even if I asked them, how could they resolve the reason that at this age I’m still so unattached. So willfully…frustrated. And now I’m getting frustrated. I really don’t want to talk about this. Post about it. Whatever.
So many times before I’ve written along these lines, but never actually addressed the acute truth. I don’t want to yet, either. I can’t. I hope I will if that’s one of the steps needed in the great plan. I’m sure I could if I knew that it was. That’s a trick of the great plan is that I never know what is required of me until it’s immediately apparent.
Things:
Lame fireworks.
Lame dude asking if I’d sit on his lap. Somehow, asshole, you’ve given me ample opportunity to respond to your creepy queries, maybe the better thing to do is just to shut up instead of forcing me to “slap you” if you “get sassy.” You’re very lucky that I find you completely benign and so unfuckable I foregawt hw to spel. Otherwise, none of this would be allowed to happen.
Lame catching nice guy’s eye but not being sure if it was good or just stupid. Likely the latter or he thinks I have some kind of dust in my eye.
Lame being totally insulted about the music in my Ipod.
Lame having to give my bowl of cherries to some random neighbors. Lame that my salsa is gone. Lame that everyone puts their hand out to me, but feels free to rip on me and never say thank you and have absolutely no clue out of the million things going on in my life why I might at any given moment be upset.
Sorry, Lady Liberty, but you said we were free, and that includes freedom to be a self-righteous, angsty bint.
