Just got back from Danny's, not my favorite bar in the world, but I've been thrice in the past week. I cannot trust any place where I cannot walk in and immediately see every person there.
I have been meaning to quit drinking. If I drink less, I smoke less, and my whole body wins! I think I've had, on average, about three beers every night for the past week or so, and my gut shows it. I'm not the kind of girl who cares much about her weight, but dear lord, I detest feeling like a bloated cow. Bloated cows = not cute. Gotta get the beer consumption in check.
Have been driven crazy the past few days at work by nice French people. They want to talk, and ask a ton of questions, in really crappy English. Spent 10 minutes trying to ascertain why a grown man wanted "little shoes." No, not for children, for adults. Little shoes for adults? Leather. The man wanted leather shoes.
My dog audibly farted. Comedy gold. Also comedy gold: every morning, I let him out, feed him, then crawl back into bed for an extra 10 - 15 minutes. Thus, every morning, he finishes his breakfast, runs into my bedroom, puts his front paws up by my head, and burps in my face. Every goddamn morning. I also find this hilarious, though admittedly gross.
Head splitting. Did not write the paper that I should have, which means that in order to complete the required papers for this semester, I will have to write about -isms that I don't much care for. Only point of pride for today is that I applied to study abroad for spring '09. London, here I come, maybe.
Have been racking up crazy international phone bills talking to my colleague, Duckworth (refer to previous entry). He is coming to visit for two weeks in June. We share very similar neuroses, so we shall see how two weeks together pans out.
Had a lengthy conversation last night with two chicks who are starved for male affection. Couldn't relate. Have been enjoying autonomy, particularly in the physical sense. I am enjoying the fact that there is nobody around who feels like they are owed any part of my body. Crappiest part of a relationship? Feeling like yr obligated to be a steady lay. The thought of being so much as kissed, is such a turn-off for me right now. Even so, I develop at least one crush a day. But, it's all cerebral, if that makes sense.
Okay, I feel I have done my duty to my reading public. Time to crawl into bed with the only little man I will share it with: my farting, burping dog.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
[Before I begin, if anyone can explain to me how to create an expandable post using Blogger, I'd appreciate it. Otherwise, be patient for all these dang photos to load.]
Sweeter words there are not in the English language.
Heathrow can be ________. Umm, exhausting? Full of too many people that weren't my friend, Dan. I practically pulled a neck muscle looking for him. A nice chauffeur offered me use of his mobile phone as I fumbled with the coins necessary to call Dan. Maybe it's because he was Russian, and I was cursing a blue streak that he felt such an affinity with me?
Or perhaps it was my drinking. First of many I had at the equivalent Chicago time of 9 AM.
Funny Englishwoman Holly Walsh. Was introduced to her via current_.
From the country that brought you Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia.
And manners.
Okay, then.
I almost bought the coffee mug.
I wondered when he got a magazine. Then I really got excited cos there was a Guerrilla Girls interview inside. They're responsible for my introduction to radical feminism at a young junior high school age.
My friend, Dan, showed me how his Save-The-Frog campaign made it into a book about Daniel Johnston. I was not a participant in that campaign. Instead, I walked by grumpily after work, and told Dan to...
If I had a dollar for every time I was told to do this, I would have enough money to move to London, just as I am dreaming of doing.
The man of action, Dan, himself. Try not to get hit by a car!
Dan's better half, Kat, introduced us to shunt, this really amazing performance space/gallery/members only bar in the tunnels under London Bridge. It's the historic location of the medieval red light district. Easily my favorite time in London, but my best of London with Kat is when we were riding the tube and a mother and her small child got on board. Kid was cute. Cute like those boys in Me + You + Everyone we know. He was blowing up a balloon, and we just knew he was going to do something mischievous, but we were not prepared for what he did: released all the air in one burst into his mother's face. The woman's hair literally flew back. Couldn't stop laughing. Guess you had to be there.
Back to shunt: I knew it was the place for me when I realized the DJ was spinning an entire set of French music from the 20s! In some tunnels! Under London Bridge! With people drinking while sitting on old wooden furniture all around! I don't care if that sounds pretentious, it's true, I loved it!
It got kicked up a notch when these two English dudes, calling themselves Los Dos, did about a 6 song set of covers performed in vague South American accents. I couldn't explain to you the sheer geniusosity of two wankers introducing 'The Girl from Ipanema' as a song they wrote a few years back if I tried, so I won't. It was brilliant.
Kat and I went to the Tower of London. One of the rooms where they held prisoners had this carving from the late 16th century. On the left hand side, you see a tree with its roots wrapping a heart. On the right, the inscription: "MY HART IS YOURS TEL DETH." Sad.
Apparently, the wife of this particular duo did not inspire such feelings.
Yes, sometimes death is funny.
I think London taught me how to.
Dan and I left town for Manchester. I talked it up way too much. Everything was closed when we got there, and was nothing left to do but the purpose of our trip: to see The Mars Volta.
As Dan put it, you know you're getting old, when it's not punk rock anymore to put a bunch of kids and security guards in danger. And, man, remember being EXCITED? I envied those kids onstage their sheer joy, imagining how they would share the tale again and again on fan message boards. I got bored 30 minutes into a 3 hour wank session and went to the pub 'round back to read a paper alone.
My favorite meal in England, purchased from two different vendors at Borough Market. Soft ciabatta bap and "drunken cheese" (formaggio ubriaco). Hails from Italy, received its name from the red wine in which it is soaked. Legend has it that the Italians hid their cheese from the army in WWII in red wine vats or whatever you call them.
Afterwards, met up with my friend Neil. The person who took this photo is a certain gentleman who shall henceforth be referred to as...
...my colleague, Duckworth. I did not take this photo of Duckworth, but lordy, I wish I had.
We drank, we smoked, we went to see some jazz as performed by Jeff Parker from Chicago and some other dudes.
I continued my 12 hour day of drinking with my friend, Ikey. We tried to go to shunt, but I had a run-in with the chick at the door and we were not allowed admittance. I composed a limerick for her (okay, just the first line) that begins: "There was a cunt from shunt--" I made it up to Ikey by taking him to a ghetto South American bar smack dab across the street from London Bridge. It's like the bat cave. Only with white chicks rockin' thigh high gold sequined boots. You can see Ikey can't stop staring.
Suspicious. A whole cake, on the sidewalk. No one was around.
I explain how a camera works to Duckworth.
A book vending machine: it's like somebody was reading my DREAMS!
Good-bye, London!
Home, home again. I guess I like to be here when I can.
Sweeter words there are not in the English language.
Heathrow can be ________. Umm, exhausting? Full of too many people that weren't my friend, Dan. I practically pulled a neck muscle looking for him. A nice chauffeur offered me use of his mobile phone as I fumbled with the coins necessary to call Dan. Maybe it's because he was Russian, and I was cursing a blue streak that he felt such an affinity with me?
Or perhaps it was my drinking. First of many I had at the equivalent Chicago time of 9 AM.
Funny Englishwoman Holly Walsh. Was introduced to her via current_.
From the country that brought you Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia.
And manners.
Okay, then.
I almost bought the coffee mug.
I wondered when he got a magazine. Then I really got excited cos there was a Guerrilla Girls interview inside. They're responsible for my introduction to radical feminism at a young junior high school age.
My friend, Dan, showed me how his Save-The-Frog campaign made it into a book about Daniel Johnston. I was not a participant in that campaign. Instead, I walked by grumpily after work, and told Dan to...
If I had a dollar for every time I was told to do this, I would have enough money to move to London, just as I am dreaming of doing.
The man of action, Dan, himself. Try not to get hit by a car!
Dan's better half, Kat, introduced us to shunt, this really amazing performance space/gallery/members only bar in the tunnels under London Bridge. It's the historic location of the medieval red light district. Easily my favorite time in London, but my best of London with Kat is when we were riding the tube and a mother and her small child got on board. Kid was cute. Cute like those boys in Me + You + Everyone we know. He was blowing up a balloon, and we just knew he was going to do something mischievous, but we were not prepared for what he did: released all the air in one burst into his mother's face. The woman's hair literally flew back. Couldn't stop laughing. Guess you had to be there.
Back to shunt: I knew it was the place for me when I realized the DJ was spinning an entire set of French music from the 20s! In some tunnels! Under London Bridge! With people drinking while sitting on old wooden furniture all around! I don't care if that sounds pretentious, it's true, I loved it!
It got kicked up a notch when these two English dudes, calling themselves Los Dos, did about a 6 song set of covers performed in vague South American accents. I couldn't explain to you the sheer geniusosity of two wankers introducing 'The Girl from Ipanema' as a song they wrote a few years back if I tried, so I won't. It was brilliant.
Kat and I went to the Tower of London. One of the rooms where they held prisoners had this carving from the late 16th century. On the left hand side, you see a tree with its roots wrapping a heart. On the right, the inscription: "MY HART IS YOURS TEL DETH." Sad.
Apparently, the wife of this particular duo did not inspire such feelings.
Yes, sometimes death is funny.
I think London taught me how to.
Dan and I left town for Manchester. I talked it up way too much. Everything was closed when we got there, and was nothing left to do but the purpose of our trip: to see The Mars Volta.
As Dan put it, you know you're getting old, when it's not punk rock anymore to put a bunch of kids and security guards in danger. And, man, remember being EXCITED? I envied those kids onstage their sheer joy, imagining how they would share the tale again and again on fan message boards. I got bored 30 minutes into a 3 hour wank session and went to the pub 'round back to read a paper alone.
My favorite meal in England, purchased from two different vendors at Borough Market. Soft ciabatta bap and "drunken cheese" (formaggio ubriaco). Hails from Italy, received its name from the red wine in which it is soaked. Legend has it that the Italians hid their cheese from the army in WWII in red wine vats or whatever you call them.
Afterwards, met up with my friend Neil. The person who took this photo is a certain gentleman who shall henceforth be referred to as...
...my colleague, Duckworth. I did not take this photo of Duckworth, but lordy, I wish I had.
We drank, we smoked, we went to see some jazz as performed by Jeff Parker from Chicago and some other dudes.
I continued my 12 hour day of drinking with my friend, Ikey. We tried to go to shunt, but I had a run-in with the chick at the door and we were not allowed admittance. I composed a limerick for her (okay, just the first line) that begins: "There was a cunt from shunt--" I made it up to Ikey by taking him to a ghetto South American bar smack dab across the street from London Bridge. It's like the bat cave. Only with white chicks rockin' thigh high gold sequined boots. You can see Ikey can't stop staring.
Suspicious. A whole cake, on the sidewalk. No one was around.
I explain how a camera works to Duckworth.
A book vending machine: it's like somebody was reading my DREAMS!
Good-bye, London!
Home, home again. I guess I like to be here when I can.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Before I had any idea what it was really like, I might have written copious musings on lost love. The songs I listen to, the films I watch, the books I read are all ruminations on lost love. But, I have learned, there is nothing poetic about losing love, not really. I suppose if you tried hard enough, you could make a mountain out of the pathetic molehill that is the reality of that crappy situation. I was controlling, and full of complaints. He was secretive and stubborn. For awhile, we were in love, but then we were both too stubborn to admit failure. When the end finally came, it was too sudden to seem real, and neither one of us particularly wanted to admit our relief.
It is the relief that gets to me. The relief to be free of this person that I still care for, despite fiercely wishing it were otherwise. I can visualize the day where the sound of his name evokes as much emotion as the word tofu. I can visualize it, there, in the future! But, in the meantime, I am stuck in a single today, where I do all I can to avoid thinking of the multitude of yesterdays.
It is the relief that gets to me. The relief to be free of this person that I still care for, despite fiercely wishing it were otherwise. I can visualize the day where the sound of his name evokes as much emotion as the word tofu. I can visualize it, there, in the future! But, in the meantime, I am stuck in a single today, where I do all I can to avoid thinking of the multitude of yesterdays.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
To begin,
Had a dream last night [full disclosure: it was after noon, today] that I found a shop in the NYC subway tunnels that sold the most amazing ocean themed dildos.
It has come to this.
Today is day 1 of the rest of our lives. That sounds important, but it's not. So was yesterday, and the day before that. So far, about the past 3 weeks. It is a personally karmic Groundhog's Day, but I don't think as many people will buy tickets to this one.
That's cos it went straight to DVD.
Tennessee Shorts, bought one, didn't you, boy? Tennessee's the dog I adopted yesterday, on a rather wretched, self-serving impulse. Tenny, for short, does not know that he is toeing the line between my good graces and my contempt. I am trying to like him for him and not dislike him on the fact that he looks every bit like Miss Havisham's dog. I am half afraid that if I start loving him, I will feed him bits of raw liver like a mother bird or something. Oh, you never read Wuthering Heights; you couldn't understand my fear.
It has come to this.
Today is day 1 of the rest of our lives. That sounds important, but it's not. So was yesterday, and the day before that. So far, about the past 3 weeks. It is a personally karmic Groundhog's Day, but I don't think as many people will buy tickets to this one.
That's cos it went straight to DVD.
Tennessee Shorts, bought one, didn't you, boy? Tennessee's the dog I adopted yesterday, on a rather wretched, self-serving impulse. Tenny, for short, does not know that he is toeing the line between my good graces and my contempt. I am trying to like him for him and not dislike him on the fact that he looks every bit like Miss Havisham's dog. I am half afraid that if I start loving him, I will feed him bits of raw liver like a mother bird or something. Oh, you never read Wuthering Heights; you couldn't understand my fear.
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