Btw, just decided

I’m about to change my middle name to “late to the party”…because not only am I always late to the party, but I am literally…always late to the party.

Sometimes I really have to wonder where I am, or where I have been. I can’t account for the majority of the hours I have spent alive. Honestly….what am I doing most of the time??? (besides random blog posting)..?

Revision: I have just determined where I have been. It seems I’ve spent too much time reading up on cyborgs and the distant future, that the present consistently manages to escape me. Not only am I always late to the party, but it’s more likely I’m not even aware that a party is taking place. I spend far too much time with my head stuck in a cheeseburger to even notice.

As unfortunate as this is, I don’t really think there’s a solution. But this makes me feel better:

Look at how streamline it is!

MIT Bio Suit for NASA


All I dreamt about last night was food.

Seriously. I was eating something in every goddamn scene of the dream that I can remember. Biscuits. It was mostly biscuits. Biscuits with grape jam and butter, biscuits with raspberry preserves, biscuits with peanut butter and jelly, biscuits with honey and blackberry dip,  biscuits with biscuits in them. Part of the dream took place at a fucking buffet. I shit you not.

There was also a long portion of the dream that I spent transporting cheeseburgers in and out of the teacher’s lounge at my old high school. Cheeseburgers, in and out, in and out in a greasy paper sack. I must have eaten about four of them in the process. At one point I ran into Ms. Docter, one of my old math teachers, and she asked me to give her the cheeseburgers and that she would store them in her office. Reluctantly, I said ‘OK’, but not before sneaking one out of the bag and into my purse.I remember then walking into the gym for phys. ed. (lol, right?)….and the wall was lined with pans upon pans of warm, buttery, flaky biscuits. And I wanted every last one of them.

Fuck. I’m going to go make a sandwich.


I have been oversleeping at night, and catnapping during the day a lot for the past two weeks. This of course has led to the viscious cycle of waking up tired…followed shortly thereafter by the strong urge to go right back to sleep (which I tend to give into). However, oversleeping is known to cause depression due to deviation from the normal rationing of serotonin that is regulated by a healthy sleep schedule. I take it that this accounts for the majority of the gloominess and lethargy I’ve been experiencing, not to mention the frequent headaches. Too much goddamn sleep.

The plan of action now is to go do some jumping jacks, stop eating this sesame chicken (eating causes sleepy), drink a pint of water, pop some multivitamins, pile a bunch of clothes and shit on top of my bed so I can’t get in it, and watch an intellectually stimulating movie.

Gotta break the cycle.

Poop on midsummer

Yesterday, Joyce, Jason, Casey, Alice & Alice’s man went to Fairmount to bet on horse races. It was an experience. Word of advice however…never go to Fairmount and order a nacho platter. *vomit*

My playlist for right now includes some Metro Area, Black Moth Super Rainow, Ducktails, MSTRKRFT, Van She, Theoretical Girl, Rainbow Arabia and The Most Serene Republic.

Metro Area’s “Miura” is a fun summer groove from their self-titled 2002 debut.

Black Moth Super Rainbow’s “Iron Lemonade” from this year’s album, Eating Us.

Black Moth Super Rainbow – Iron Lemonade

If the others aren’t already in ur iTunes, Google that shit.

Last night’s dream was interesting, but unfortunately I can’t recall all of it. There was a first part that was really interesting, but I can only barely remember it.

I know for part of the beginning I was in a class with several other people, including “Kendra”….our teacher was making us write our names in marker on sheets of looseleaf, among various and sundry other Kindergarten-esque religion assignments. There were a lot of students in the room, and there was some debate over who got to sit where, followed by a very duplo-like montage of rearranging and reconnecting blue sectional pieces…I think Kendra ended up on an ottoman. Most people just ended up on the floor. I was late turning in my assignments of course, and I very distinctly recall reading an old test (yes, I have successfully read text before in dreams, so don’t believe that bullshit about people can’t read in dreams. That isn’t true in the least bit). I remember seeing a 25/75 on a test. Then I was at a university, with a lot of other students. We were all dressed in like, cadet uniforms. It was weird. There was a tower that we all used to transport messages and get from one class to the next. There was a ginger boy whom I helped with something at one point, and I sensed that he was immediately in love with me. He stared at me a lot. At one point, all of the students were sitting in front of a large outdoor movie screen. I was all over some other guy though, although I don’t recall who it was. But the ginger boy saw me, and just stared. I broke his dream heart.

Anyway, the last part I remember is being in a convention room or something with a lot of older, rural people. (I didn’t mean that derogatorily either). Anyway, there was an announcer guy who I was sitting right next to, he seemed like he was infomercial dude of some sort (Billy Mays? RIP) and he was announcing the fact that someone in the room was eating home fries and shrimp or catfish or something. Then they started cornering me and trying to give me all of these french fries….it was weird. I took the fries and ate some. Then I followed some guys out back to a backyard where there were a bunch of BOBs and ATOs playing field games. I recognized some people, including Ryan, Neil, Franklin, Stephanie Horton, Theresia….and Betsy O’Brien might have been out there, but I can’t remember who else at this point. I walked straight past them to a nearby house.

When I got in the house, I walked into the kitchen where I found Kara Drury. Kara began to sob, and I started consoling her. Ciera appeared and she and I were both trying to comfort Kara. I asked if she was crying about Eric, but it turned out that Kara was crying over “Kendra”, which struck me as odd. I found some cookies on a nearby countertop and began eating them, meanwhile Ciera started interrogating Kara about why she would have any reason to care about or cry over Kendra. I think Kendra might have been outside playing field games with the other BOBs, but I don’t recall actually seeing her. I never found out why Kara was crying over her though, because that was around the time my dad so rudely woke me up. It was very strange….

Am I getting sick?

I know I have had some problems lately, but last night’s dream has really got me worried now. It was terrible.

The first of it that I can recall is being at home with my grandmother, father and brother. As usual my brother and dad were quarreling over some chore or another (turns out they quarreled in waking life today over cutting the grass). My grandmother was in ill health, and my dad was in the process of helping organize her clothing. Anyway, he enlisted my help, and as I have done so far in waking life, I agreed to help with the taking care of her affairs. So, I tried to help out. He had gotten out a ladder to hang up clothing on some high racks in a large closet (which I think might have been our kitchen in reverse or something). But he and my grandmother watched and kept getting mad at me, because I was doing it wrong or something. I dont’ even really know what I did wrong, but I just recall getting severely yelled at.

I remember arguing furiously with my dad and grandmother for a long time. I was yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs about god knows what. Then I remember retreating to my room and closing the door, most likely crying. I felt as if my dad, grandmother and brother had all left the house. I think at this point, I remember getting on Second Life. I was just to hang out with and talk to some people, but they didn’t understand me or something. Or they didn’t care. It was at this point that I noticed my mom was home. She was in the room next door, which she actually is in waking life now. I went to talk to her, and we ended up arguing. But the worse part came after I returned to my room. I started seeing flashing lights from an ambulance and police car outside my window. At first I thought the ambulance was for someone else, but it stopped outside of our house. I flipped out.

I watched some paramedics quickly jog up to our front door, and some that followed pulling up a stretcher. I then thought, maybe they had come to haul off my grandmother or something. I ran to my mom to ask her what was going on, and she told me that my dad had told her to call 911 and have me taken away to the hospital. I flew into a rage. I had no idea what was wrong with me or the rest of my family, but I just raged and raged at my mother, exclaiming that I was not the one who needed help. She claimed that everyone in the family thought that I was mentally unstable, and that I ought to be hospitalized and put back on medication.

I can’t recall a time in a dream where I had ever felt more betrayed. I somehow ended up convincing the paramedics that it was a false alarm and that their services would not be needed. My mom reacted as if I were passing up an opportunity that would be beneficial for me. She said it was my mistake.

I just felt really hurt by my family, and really confused for myself. I know that I have been less than emotionally sound as of late, and I have considered going back to a professional, but I didn’t like the notion of being forced or “outed” in that way. I certainly did not think hospitalization was necessary either. It was the most horrible feeling. I just don’t know what my subconscious is trying to say about me, my family or the way they think about me.

Most of the time my family doesn’t even communicate, and certainly not lovingly. We might all be home, but we are in our separate rooms and we don’t say much to one another. It is always very tense in our house, every one of us with the desire to be living alone, yet still feeling lonely. We imprison and shut each other away daily. Even the cat has experienced the effects of it. Our relationships are just dead. The whole house has withered. There isn’t one of us here who doesn’t have some deep-seated emotional issues. If you stop by on a weekend night, you might not pick up on this. But you can almost smell the depression and the isolation in our house if you are here around mid-day. It lingers in dim hallways and on permanent fixtures. It’s mind-numbingly quiet, and the lights are never on. You almost feel compelled to lock yourself in a room and crawl into bed at a snail’s pace. Virtually everything I do in this house is in the process of making my way back into bed.

Growing up, it was a rare occurrence that I would ever invite friends over. I was almost too ashamed to bring anyone home, fearing that trying to bring lively people into such a dismal environment would yield some unexpected results.

I hope that someday when this house is sold, it goes to a happy, vibrant young couple with giggly toddlers and active puppies.

Wonderful news.

My uncle Joseph is still alive. ^^ It turns out that the rotten attorney that our family in Ohio hired to take over his affairs (he’s in a nursing home currently), was just trying to pull a fast one over on us.

The irony of this is that Joseph’s sister Mamie (also my grandmother’s sister), who is orchestrating this whole corrupt affair, happens to be a preacher at her church. But she’s not quite the beacon of morality that she poses to be. My grandmother always told me never to openly discuss family matters with strangers, but I have no shame anymore. And apparently neither does Mamie….

If my aunt and her family are so god-fearing and self-righteous … I fail to understand how they think they will get away with this. I almost want to send letters to her congregation, exposing her for this. Not only is it no way to treat her elder brother, but it’s also no way to treat the rest of his family who care deeply about him. He has been like a father to my dad. :/

In other news, I have been considering deleting the previous post. But perhaps I will let it go. I don’t normally bring things like that up…and certainly not in such a publically accessible place, but I want to try this new thing where I talk openly about my emotional habits. Besides..I guess, .what does it matter? It’s just a blog. Some anonymous viewer will judge me? Whatever.


It’s 6:30 am….I just finished watching Pretty in Pink for the millionth time. That movie never ceases to make me me cry like a baby. But tonight/this morning I felt the need to go through it again. The nostalgic yearning for more youthful times and loves long lost, the strain that differences in socioeconomic status can put on a budding relationship, the sheer agony of unrequited love at such a tender age….The range of emotions and experiences that the storyline has to offer is really well-portrayed. I probably cry during every other scene of this movie.

My heart especially goes out to all of the Philip F. Dale’s of the world…including myself. I don’t know what it is about him, or about me, but I have this obsession with victims and the process of victimization when it comes to love stories. I secretly crave heartache, but only as it relates to the unrequited lover. It’s like watching a car wreck, but you just can’t turn away because deep down you want to see the devastation. I swear, I only watch these movies in order to cry. I just want to see someone else hurt.

Sometimes I “fantasize” about being in Duckie’s position, even though it’s really not necessary, nor is it necessarily healthy. I’ve been in his position many times before. As uncomfortable as it is, it is the most comfortable situation for me, as it is the most familiar. But it’s never quite so satisfying while it happens to me, as it is watching it happen to someone else. As horrible and sadistic as that sounds, I admit that I derive some sort of sick, twisted satisfaction from seeing it, from reading about it, from thinking about it. A primitive part of me genuinely likes watching people hurt, but only in this one, particular, emotionally unique way.

I think about it incessantly, and I set up these fictional situations in my head just so that I can play through them, imagining myself in their place, and imagining how painful it would be. I never want them to get what they want. I just want them to keep hurting while I leech feelings from them. I always end up crying, but it’s oddly satisfying. It feels like I’m getting to amplify something that I’ve already personally gone through, just to know that it was, is and can be real. And it does something for me on a level that I’m half-way ashamed of, if not confused by. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not just using the pain of fictional characters as an excuse to cry over my own ills.

Regardless, it’s a horrible, sad fascination that I dare not bring up again. I’m off to bed.

Family, my a$$.

I apologize in advance for the personal, somewhat untasteful nature of this post, but suckitwhatthefuck this is my blog.

There’s a 90% chance that my uncle Joseph who lived in Columbus, Ohio, might have died three months ago. But our so-called “family” in Columbus are a bunch of scum bags and DID NOT EVEN CALL US TO TELL US.

They really never cared about him. They just wanted his money.

Fucking. Bullshit.

We are contacting the courts to find out if it’s true….and if it is, so help me God…

Well..this was weird.

So here’s what went down this morning…

The first thing I recall is being at a place that I don’t know how to describe. It might have been a school or a movie theater or a stock ($$$) room. I’m not certain what people were doing there, but there were a lot of people sitting at long tables in rows in a giant auditorium, talking animatedly. I think they were all writing things also. Anyway…I was there and four of my real life friends appeared there as well. Apparently, Bob was in trouble with some people in this auditorium because he said something they didn’t like, and there was a huge commotion over it. I don’t particularly know what was said, but there was some sort of rioting and there was talk of having him removed from the room. I don’t remember what Allison’s role in this was, but she was there and I think she was talking to me. Christian, who I sensed was employed at this place, was just walking up and down the isles. My friend Stephanie expressed that she was mad at me because I wasn’t drinking. >_>

Then in the next scene, a friend of mine (who I think might have been Katie or Amanda) and I were being shown around an abandoned warehouse by this guy who owned a tiny teal store not too far from the warehouse. His store was oddly shaped and it sat atop of a giant see-saw, on which a miniature power generator or something sat at the opposite end. It was located in a very strange place also…a most post-apocalyptic looking town. Everything was tinted red, and there were large pipes extending in between any buildings (there were few). Actually, it looked more like we were on a different planet. Anyway, this guy helped us crawl into high windows and strange spaces. It was….weird, at best. He helped us climb into really high-up windows by propping our bodies up at weird angles while we scaled buildings with our arms. It made me very scared.

The next scene I recall is probably the most interesting…..and strange. I was in an apartment with what seemed to be an older man. He was always wearing a brown business suit, and he wasn’t very attractive. He seemed slightly overweight, but I sensed that I loved him. I soon discovered that this man and I were married. We were hugging a lot. I noticed that outside was a lobby that was connected to several restrooms and supposedly an all-girls’ dormitory. A number of my friends were in this lobby. Theresa, Lily and Andrea appeared here. Stephanie also appeared again, along with several other young women that I knew but whose faces I couldn’t recall. They were all drunk and were vomiting in the bathrooms outside of my husband and I’s apartment. I became really pissed when I went to use one of the restrooms and the toilet was clogged with vomit and excrement and what have you. I remembered expressing disgust that all of my friends were just out getting drunk and being irresponsible all the time, while I had a household to maintain. Stephanie, again, mentioned something about how I needed to lighten up. The toilet was flooding, and I yelled for the landlady to help us, but no one came. I searched for a plunger and tried to fix the toilet myself, but I don’t recall whether or not it worked.

Then when I returned to my apartment, several of my female friends were sitting at my dining room table. I recognized Waff, Liz, and some girls that went to my grade school. My husband (still an unidentified, unattractive older man), apparently had seated them and was serving them bagels and cream cheese. They had already eaten some fruit, but I offered them more. Then my husband and I were talking, I don’t remember what about. He revealed to me that he was only 3 years older than me. I didn’t believe him. Then suddenly, I was at a party. Jessica was there, but it wasn’t her house. It was still my apartment, but it had been extended to where it looked like a very large house. There were several bedrooms, and a large wrap-around L-kitchen, all traditionally furnished. There were several people at this party. I don’t recall what the party was for….I almost want to say it was for my engagement or some sort of marital rearrangement I was going through. Except, the guy I was with wasn’t the older gentleman from earlier in the dream….it was a male friend of Jessica’s.

All of the other friends from earlier in the dream appeared at my party, plus several other people I knew from gradeschool. We were eating and drinking and being merry. I was worried about a few of the individuals at my party who didn’t seem to be having fun. I noticed that my “fiancé” was very touchy feely with me. We were hugging a lot and being all sappy. This wasn’t really my style, but apparently this was the type of relationship we had. It was really obnoxious. Then we gradually slipped away into one of the bedrooms. But apparently, this didn’t happen under the radar. When I emerged from the bedroom, the party was over and it was the next morning. My “fiancé” was nowhere to be found. Jessica was still there however. I think Waff might have been there still also. They informed me that my other guests did not appreciate my having retreated to the bedroom with my fiancé during my own engagement party. I felt really guilty, and I tried to pretend that the party was still going. That’s all I remember.

If there is one thing I have learned…

from drooling over Jane Aldridge’s blog all night, it is that the key to maintaining a successful and emotionally satisfying blog isn’t being really knowledgeable about topics or following trends (although how many fashionista bloggers are out there prancing around in photo shoots??). Rather successful blogging is about indulging yourself and earnestly and avidly posting on the things you are passionate about. Eye candy + enthusiasm = a most winning combination if there ever was one.

That being said, here are some pseudo-artistic, amateur quality photos of my digital pet and dried-up gelly roll pen collections.

My fav was the "compu kitty" (the yellow one)

My fav was the "compu kitty" (the yellow one)


These are mostly dried-up gelly rollers from like....5th grade?

This gets even more interesting...

Note the "Milky"...

Really yummy colors

Really yummy colors

These get more interesting from different angles...

These get more interesting from different angles...

The colors of my youth

The colors of my youth

Suck on that, Jane. If you guys ever need shoddy stock photography of gelly rollers or Tamagotchis…

Time Stands Still When I Think Of You


omg want her babies nau



hope the kids get ur bangs


I have preordered this guy's baybies.


twins requested

Meanwhile…Passion Pit continues to top my summer list for most frequented tracks, followed closely by Cut Copy.

Have any of you seen Cut Copy live yet? I think that might be fun.

Let’s throw a party!

Hate myself more? Is that possible? Yes. Yes it is.

Today I’m reluctantly crushing on Jane Aldridge and her fucking stupid ass fashionista blog right now. Gosh, I’m really not into fashionistas….but if you haven’t already (which I’m almost certain you have, this blog is 2 years old), take a gander at her and her mum’s blog. Not only is she drop dead stunning, but this slut is only 17 years old and she already has remarkably good taste, a closet full of designer shoes, a $camera$ to prove it, and a colossal Prada wallet to pay for it all, apparently…not to mention a massive global readership that happens to include one Kanye West.

I hate her,  except I’m in love with her and I can’t stay away. *sigh* If only there were an expendable income large enough to feed my obsession with designer shoes and clothing…..>_>  In all honesty, I don’t give a shit about designer anything, but I will pretend to whilst reading her blog for the sake of getting the “full experience”. Her grandmother is a seamstress, her mother used to work in the fashion industry and had her own clothing line, and now apparently little bit has one too? Her and her mum travel the world plucking designer and vintage shit out of the woodworks like my mom plucks eyebrows (my mom has no brows, mind you). She shits so much opulence, it’s unbelievable. Even her “lazy photography” days leave her, at worst, coming off as another one of those trendy, affluent yet refreshingly lo-fi hipsters. God, I so hate trendy lo-fi hipsters.

what a slut$cunt. Love the boots, though.

Oh, and fuck Garance Doré for drawing this.

Illustration by Garace Doré

“Today I am wearing … A mongolian lamb fur vest on loan from mom …”

-Jane Aldridge.