Party Foul.

I hate that I have to be so anal about this, but…I’m going to bitch briefly about something.

Last night my housemates threw a party and I agreed to DJ or whatever. I don’t mind DJing, but I do mind when random people decide to manipulate my playlist w/o consulting me first.

For example….if I had a penny for every time I was at ATO and didn’t want to hear a song they were playing, I’d probably be loaded. Have I ever been vocal about it? On occasion, yes. But would I ever go behind the DJ booth and start raiding their iPods? Uh, no. Call me pretentious, but I’m not in the business of undermining the DJ.

Maybe I’m just overly irritable and sensitive when I’ve had a bit to drink, but I was pretty offended. So for future reference…unless you’re my best friend, please don’t assume you can switch songs on my iPod when you’re attending a party at my house.

Thank you.


I probably need to be told what to do.

An interesting but unrelated thing I discovered about myself just now. If I’m at all nervous about a subject, situation or interaction, I will hold on to my neck with my right arm crossing over my heart. If not this, I am idly scratching at a place on my face or neck that does not, in fact, itch.

Photo 137

I assume, if it’s a one-on-one interaction with someone at least, that my “scratching” and neck gripping behaviors are an attempt to keep the other person from making prolonged eye contact with me. Or maybe I am trying to convey the idea that I potentially feel threatened by them for whatever reason.

I don’t know why I always have such problems with eye contact. I am a very confrontational and direct person at heart, but this never surfaces in my interactions with people. I almost always suppress any urges to be frank with another person, either verbally or physically. And if you want to get really psychoanalytical on my particular case…you could lump sexual advances in with “physical frankness”…which might explain a few of the inclinations (or lack thereof) I harbor. I guess I just always figured that I usually have something to hide, which is true. Having something to hide, or perhaps not knowing how I should receive another person’s gaze are the main culprits for me. Do not stare at me in person. Also, remind me to grow a spine.

Feel free to post comments sharing similar quirks of your own. I’d be interested to know….

In other news, I am now adding it to my list of life goals, or my bucket list if you will…to meet both Ariel Pink and Alan Palomo. If I shake hands with either or both of these men before I die, I will die a happy-ish woman. Ariel is particularly dear to me. I dare say I sometimes feel like I have never heard music more intuitive than his. Perhaps Worn Copy is my favorite album of his to date, followed rather closely by House Arrest. Scared Famous is definitely his most accessible album and is definitely a gem, but it still pales a bit in comparison to an album like Worn Copy, which is completely out of this world. He undoubtedly knows of perspectives, of phrases, of thoughts, of chord progressions and sounds that seem so obvious when you think about them…because they have always been there, obscured.

He is the most blatantly hauntological artist I think I have come across thus far, and is the sole reason for my present intrigue in hauntology. Maybe even more so than the Ghost Box artists… He is just so intuitive that I cannot help but be touched by his songs. Ariel writes the songs that were always meant to be written by someone, somewhere at some lost point in time. Sometimes my infatuation with Ariel’s music becomes so intense that I convince myself that I’m not actually just a remote listener, but that all of my experiences are somehow integral parts of his songwriting process…and that he has written these songs to (but not necessarily for) me, and with me in mind (as opposed to R. Stevie >_>).

Ariel Pink

I don’t know how many of you have heard this interview yet, but Alan Palomo recently did an interview with Indieview in which he talks about the nature of songwriting, or really of the type of songwriting that artists like himself and Ariel Pink do. It’s a brilliant interview, not to mention Alan has a voice like butter.

Everything that he says in this interview is completely right on. I could not have said any of it better myself…not only because I don’t know nearly as much about music or the production of music as Alan does, but also because he is simply more eloquent. His word choices and examples are completely right on to where I feel like he’s been plucking unripe ideas out of my brain while I sleep…and then maturing and refining them. That’s how intuition must feel. He and Ariel both are the epitome of intuitive in my mind. He talks about collective sounds, which is another nod to Hauntology. I was so impressed. Take a listen for yourselves.

I feel like Alan and Ariel should feel entitled to having complete free reign of their own creative processes and output, as the results for them are endless and endlessly beautiful. Whereas..someone like me? Well, I probably need to be told what to do.

I’m so excited to start this book.

Kim is loaning it to me for the time being because she knows how much I enjoy transhumanist talk. Props to you, Kim. I think Kurzweil has another book entitled The Age of Intelligent Machines….I might look into that one next.

In other news, in order to relieve a bit of stress, I’d like to share with you a list of things that I find particularly annoying as of late:

1. rainy weather.

2. sudden breakouts all over your face.

3. friends who mean well but can’t give you any meaningful advice.

4. boys who supposedly liked you, but pussied out for petty and/or undisclosed (i.e. petty) reasons.

5. the fact that I have allowed too many of these boys to waste my time.

6. the fact that I can’t readily identify or spend enough time with the ones who actually do care about me.

7. professors who think it’s funny to be obnoxious both in and outside of class.

8. developing a sore on the inside of your ear.

9. having no motivation to do any of your schoolwork.

10. kitties who are determined to wake you up at 7 in the morning with their incessant meowing.

11. becoming hungry at inopportune times (e.g. during class, in the middle of your sleep, while in transit to a non-food-serving place, etc.)

…And what’s great about this list, is that I only have the power to sufficiently control like 4 of these misfortunes….

I’m going to bed.

21 or something.

I had somewhere in the vicinity of 7 shots last night? I was feeling pretty woozy and spaced out after a while at Gino’s, but other than that I felt and feel perfectly coherent and fine..

That is, excluding the sensation of being gang-stabbed in the heart by a few people I have cared about.

Photo 129

It’s as though I was watching a really sad play like two years ago, and now I’m watching it again…except the actors are different. And now every once in a while, a previous actor makes a cameo, just for the sake of further convoluting the already complicated plot. Seriously, who did the casting for this freakshow? I want no further part in this.

But on the bright side, I made a ton of progress on my pot in ceramics today, I get to watch Star Trek tonight on a big screen, with like…10 or so of my closest friends? And then I’m going to get wasted and dance until I pass out.

Photo 121

I can already see the silver lining on this storm cloud of a week.

Milestones, milestones..

Hey! This blog has reached 2,001 (a space odyssey) sips! That’s pretty cool.

Continuing on in the numbers containing 2 & 1 trend, tomorrow is my 21st birthday. Woop woop.

How do I plan to celebrate? Well…I plan to watch the season premiere episode of Gossip Girl online (you ready for this, Cathy?). I also intend to parade around campus (or maybe just a few bars) in my favorite pair of high heels…and by parade I mean something along the lines of falling on my ass multiple times and making a fool out of myself and feeling like an idiot. But, I estimate that this will all be worth it for the mere fact that these heels are hot! Please refer to my post from August 10th if you have no idea which heels I am talking about.

Also, I’m currently in the process of shitting out some really sappy poetry. You may or might not find these gems in an upcoming issue of the Gadfly…so keep your eyes peeled. ^_^

More later.

Not gonna lie.

This is all turning me on.

It’s too bad I don’t know shit about fashion.

What am I even doing with my life these days? I don’t know. I’ve just been incredibly angsty over the stupidest things. Incredibly angsty. But come Thursday, I can legally drink myself into oblivion if I so choose. And I can come home, and put on high heels, and just sit. Just sit in my heels. Not wear them out, because I can’t walk in them and wouldn’t have anywhere to go even if I could. But I can just sit in them, and think about all of the impure, childish, selfish, hurtful, senseless thoughts I have ever entertained in my entire life.

It’s gonna be great.

A song by one of my favorite bands of all time set to clips from one of my favorite films of all time. Please, if you Google anything within the next 15 mins., let it be Reverie Sound Revue’s latest album.

hallo, kwitten.

That whole bitch rant password post thing is not really my style. No hard feelings from Friday night. But really, after the social oddities and mishaps of this weekend, perhaps a post more like the following is really what I need this blog to be about…



Aw bbybbbybbybbbybbybybbybybybybyb

Aw bbybbbybbybbbybbybybbybybybybyb


Omg look at the camera Mikey not me!

What? Where are we going?

Omgwhatacutelittledude. Hey! Where are we going?

Alright clearly Mikey doesn't like this.

Look at the fucking camera, cat.

Alright, clearly Mikey doesn’t like this. Things started getting a little blurry towards the end because my little fuzzy friend was getting antsy. Oh well, you at least now have seen my housemates and I’s new little person. The animal shelter named him Mikey. This name may or may not stick. We’ll see.

But helovesme.

More on this and other matters later.

Reppin’ da gurlz.

I am totally digging Courtney and Cathy’s radio show right now. They don’t know this yet, but I am their number 1 fan. I think what they are doing is beautiful, and I fully intend to live vicariously through what will be their instant radio stardom. Their set is beautifully complimenting my mood right now, and it’s not that often that this happens when I turn on the radio (aka web stream — yes, it’s back and better than ever). It’s like a dream set, and my obsessing over it is keeping me from doing my homework. I highly recommend.

I’m also kind of in the mood for pictures of Scarlett Johansson right now.

Scarlett Johansson

If you were wondering how my procedure today went? Well….they hooked me up to all sorts of appliances, put a breathing tube in my nose, gave me some gas that smelled funny (not technically general anesthesia, but a still very powerful sedative that achieved essentially the same effect of knocking me out completely). The next thing I remember…I was being prodded awake, and it was all over.

My colon is perfectly healthy, as are my esophagus and tummy…and intestines. They said that I was so small that they had to use a childrens’ scope. Oops. I would share with you the snapshots they took from inside my guts but…I will spare you that viewing pleasure and will keep the gut shots to myself (IM me if you’re curious.)

Ugh. I’m hungry already.

I consummated my first night with this new bed by having a strange dream.

I was at a party, lounging on a couch. I was dressed really casually and my hair looked awful. I think it was all choppy and short or something, some style that wasn’t flattering on me. I was waiting for some girl to show up to the party so that I could talk to her. I think she was a BOB. But just a second or two after she arrived, a male acquaintance of mine unexpectedly showed up. I barely know this person in real life and didn’t really have a reason to react to his presence, but for some reason I bolted out of the room.

I ran into a basement or something. It looked like a dressing room because there were ironing boards and mirrors with lights around them, and dresses strewn about everywhere. There was a pack of heat up curlers on one of the ironing boards, and I turned it on. I started combing and curling my hair. I think I was freaking out because this guy had shown up and I didn’t look presentable. After a while, I went back upstairs to see if my friend was still there. Apparently she was. I hadn’t technically returned to the party, but what seemed like an hour later I went back down to the dressing room to finish my hair and make-up. There was smoke coming from the ironing board. Apparently I had left the curling set on too long, and had stupidly draped some clothing over it. The clothes were burnt to a crisp, and the curler set itself was like disintegrating from its own heat.

But the curlers and the fabric were not the only thing that had been damaged. I went to the mirror to check my hair, and all of a sudden my skin was 4 shades darker, but my hair was several inches longer and had turned almost blonde. I stared at myself for a while, and these really angry looking red rashes and patches of skin discoloration started to appear around my lips and cheeks. My face was burning in the mirror as I watched it. I turned off the curler set and was just screaming and crying and covering my face. Somehow the curling set had given me first and second degree burns all over my face even though I had no longer had any curlers in my hair.

Then it was daytime and I was walking in an alley somewhere. I think I might have just left the party. That guy who showed up earlier came running up to me. He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek, and I totally flipped out. I covered up my face and told him that I couldn’t hang out with him because I had been burned. In some ways, it was kind of his fault, but I refused to let him see my face nevertheless. He tried to pry my fingers off it so he could see me, and he kept doing weird things like kissing me on the neck. That’s the last I remember of that.

For the latter half of the dream, I found myself working at a movie theatre/dairy queen/radio station….and it appeared that I didn’t have a very good relationship with any of my coworkers, because I kept walking in on them talking shit about me behind my back. They would complain any time I tried to make something to serve to customers, or any time I messed with the controls. The very last bit of the dream I remember is sitting in a large loft with Kate Elrod. Apparently we were house-sitting for Rufus Humphrey? (from Gossip Girl). Some Realtor came by to appraise the loft or something…and Kate and I talked to him on behalf of Rufus….I dunno, it was weird.

In other news, I can’t really eat much of anything today. I have to mix up some nasty stuff to drink this evening so that I can clean out my GI tract since I’m having an upper and lower endoscopy performed tomorrow. Wish me luck.


So my parents got rid of my bed. They gave it away.

My beautiful, milk white futon C-bunk bed that my aunt bought me for my 11th birthday.

Nearly a decade of great memories with that bed..climbing its ladders night after night, pulling cat hair off of my futon cover, picking at the safety warning sticker on the railing whilst combating insomnia, and of course…hiding and hoarding tons shit under it….all very good times.

They gave it away to my 7 year old cousin so it’s not like I’ll never see it again. But…he’s a boy….a messy, sticky, nasty, mischievous little boy — who knows what condition it will be in the next time I see it.

My room looks 25% more spacious now. But you know, other than that arbitrary observation…I’m really not affected by this. I walked into my room today and there was a neat little black futon bed sitting prim against my wall. My parents even put two of my throw pillows on it to help it blend in. They followed me in to see my reaction, and I just said, “Alright out you go, I’m taking a nap.” I made the bed, and my cat ran in and jumped on it. We napped together and didn’t even skip a beat.

I knew it was coming though. I had been forewarned. I’m really getting better and better at letting go of things, at dealing with change and loss. The summer before last, my mother moved me into our guest room one day while I was at work without much of a heads up, so I gave up my bedroom of 20 years so that she could have her own home office. I gave away bags and bags of old clothing and belongings this summer. Now I have effortlessly let go of the single most striking piece of furniture that I have ever had to my name.

However, I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am good at letting go of everything. There are some things in life that I insist on keeping my claws firmly implanted in…for better or for worse. Sometimes these are tangible things, but more often than not they are intangible things…e.g. ideals, assumptions….or even more likely, things that never technically belonged to me in the first place…..e.g. certain individuals…*trails off*. If I could have gotten away with hoarding friends and potential boyfriends under that bunk bed, you know…as pathetic as I am, I probably would have.

I should add that to my list of personality traits to tone down: Stop being such a people pack rat. But it isn’t really my fault that it’s not an easier task. I mean, if I could turn off my attractions, attentions, attachments and affections with a switch, I’d be flipping them off in a heartbeat.

But luckily to take my mind off this sad past-time of mine, I’ve got Janet Jackson and a cat. Simba is now chasing his tail on my new black futon bed. It’s your own tail, Simba.

It’s your own goddamned tail.

Janet Jackson – Miss You Much (so long c-bunk)

meow. *is back* meow.

Alright so, I have enjoyed taking this leetle hiatus from blogging about unimportant things, and now I have returned, and shall continue, I guess, blogging about unimportant things.

Last night I felt like such a lost kitty, wandering from house to house in search of milks* with gingerly outstretched paw.

* (i.e. friends). Look, I know you’re not supposed to give kitties cow’s milk.

For as much as I have complained about last weekend and this first full week of classes, it has been a real adventure during which I accomplished all of the following things:

1. Managed to get srsly sloshed and dance barefoot in ATO’s basement (choices, ppl, choices)…as well as treat myself to a tasty bit of vomit…both real vomit and word vomit…

2. Received a number of apparel items in the mail from Hong Kong, only to find that they are for like srsly polly pocket sized people, despite their claimed measurements.

3. Perfectly timed the walk from E. Jefferson street to Barnett Hall (approx. 25mins at brisk pace; 30 if I’m more leisurely taking in the scenery)

4. Managed to get sick (pick up swine flu?) and miss a full day of classes.

5. Managed to recover from said missed day of classes by successfully(?) building a mug for ceramics, pwning a Modern Art quiz, and having all of my VisComm IV homework completed to some tolerable degree of quality.

6. Made a huge fool of myself in front of Joyce, Kim and Kim’s boyfriend Josh when attempting to get on and ride my bike for the first time.

7. Had a design identity crisis at Cathy’s, and divulged my deepest, darkest VisComm secrets….

8. Had the opportunity to eat lunch with some cool people over the course of the week, including, but not limited to: Cathy, Chris, Christi, Courtney, Jeremy, John, Joyce, Kayla and Kayleigh…in alphabetical order, not necessarily in order of when I ate with them or how much I enjoyed their company, mind you.

9. Ordered a large 3-topping pizza and order of cheese stiks from Papa John’s, and proceeding to stuff my face with Joyce, Cathy and Allie whilst endulging in episode after episode of Gossip Girl omg best idea evr.

10. Pet an unbelievably precious, sweet little kitten named Thomas Blake at a friend of a friend’s house, and absolutely fell in love (I wanted to scoop this cat up into my arms/life/heart)

Overall a great week.