 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
I snuggled with my purple terrycloth robe, curled up in a ball and watched Stigmata tonight. I absolutely love that movie--it's surreal and beautiful and the soundtrack is the most slow-burning, sexy set of music I've ever heard. I know I'm a Hayden Christensen girl, but Gabriel Byrne utterly transfixes me. I feel shaky. And before I upset any of my male admirers, I'll stop drooling.
06-30-2002 7:16 PM - comments (0)
Starting Tuesday, I'm working the features copy desk. While I'll probably have tons more fun, my internal clock is going to pack me a knuckle sandwich for lunch: I work from 7 a.m.-3 p.m. I love this strange, hazy schedule I have right now: sleep until 1, shower, watch a few minutes of my soaps, post, have breakfast/lunch, go to work around 3:30, leave around 11, check my mail, watch Kilborn, talk to Michael, fall asleep around 4...Abrupt reality! I have to go to bed at like 9 or something now. I miss my daytime television. I have to actually think of things to do now when I get off work.
Yesterday I edited a story about a cell phone that is implanted in your teeth (for whatever reason, you can only receive calls, not make them). I wrote a headline that has been providing me with immense amounts of pleasure for the last 16 hours:
Enameled with technology
I have the best job in the world.
06-30-2002 10:03 AM - comments (0)
Okay, that guy Shane is starting to scare the hell out of me. Somehow he got into the Globe-News building (you can't get in unless you have a badge. Besides, there's a security guard), and onto the floor I work on to drop off a card that looked like it had been made during World War II to the receptionist. His handwriting is nearly illegible, but I did make out the words: "For some reason our paths have yet to meet once again....However I graciously await the chance of your company. Please call again. I stand still to see your beautiful smile and charming ways...Sincerely yours, Shane. The stars must have known more than we did..."
As my new friend Elaina would say, "Can you say psycho?" Even if you can find it in yourself to ignore the atrocious grammar and misuse of words (which I can't. Hello, he knows I'm an editor!), the cliched sentiment would be enough to make you sick. If cliches and pick-up lines are your thing, maybe the fact that he drew a star and (what I believe to be) a sun shining in the card will push you over the proverbial edge. The card's cover, inexplicably, bears a Hispanic-looking cowboy tipping his hat and holding a bouquet of flowers next to a horse. I don't understand! No, really! This guy seemed cool! He liked good music! He dressed well! Why is he sending me yellowed cards with caballeros on the cover?
I know I'm being mean, but I'm getting just the tiniest bit sick of guys who treat women like they're brainless, spineless entities that don't mean it when they say "no." If I say I'm not interested, I'm not. If I say I have a boyfriend, I do. I am not a prize to be won. I am a strong, willful, fiery woman.
Maybe I could convince Michael to beat up Shane for me, and then take me out to dinner. That's like, so romantic.
06-29-2002 7:04 PM - comments (0)
I'm happy to report that the men in my life all have been finding ridiculous amounts of success recently. Michael, my mad scientist of a boyfriend, got his "wedding photographer" robot up and running. He's been working as a research assistant with some professors at Washington University for a while now. In a nutshell (and from what I have most likely misinterpreted from what Michael has said; come on, people, I'm a journalist, not a robot person!!!), his robot can scan the room for faces, find them one by one, move over to the person with the face (how else could I have worded that? Maybe I should be a robot person) and snap a picture of him/her. It's really amazing, from what I can tell. Not that I'm surprised; Michael is the smartest person I've ever met (also, he loves me, adding many points to his intelligence score).
Aaron, who's been in Los Angeles for the past few weeks with his record company, Big Wheel, landed on the front cover of the Boston Globe's Living section yesterday. He's involved with a company that bands together indie labels and attempts to do cross-promotion (or so I gathered). So besides working 60-hour weeks, getting to live in L.A. and work with bands like the Cancer Conspiracy, Piebald and Cave In, he's doing a lot for indie music promotion. He's taking the LSAT soon; there's no doubt in my mind he'll score well enough to go wherever he wants.
My little brother (who is much taller and stronger than me) Andy is kicking ass as usual. Not only did he receive free rides from about a million colleges, but he's also getting outside scholarships, meaning he is actually getting paid to go to school (unlike his obviously unambitious older sister). He was accepted into OU's early med program, meaning he's guaranteed a spot in their med school when he graduates. All of this, and he is very non-geeky.
So what do these boys have in common that is central to their success? No, not that. No, I don't think Michael and Andy are into that sort of thing. Well, I guess that might be it. Okay, you're getting closer...That's it! Me!
I am an ever-so-modest spectator of the lives around me.
06-29-2002 11:51 AM - comments (0)
I suppose I'm going to have to post about it eventually, and Friday afternoon is as good a time as any. There's this guy named Shane. I met him while I was waiting to pick up an order of quesadillas at a local Mexican/Indian/Pakistani restaurant (you have to squeeze as much culture as possible in Amarillo); we made small talk until my order was up. I left, and that was that. Or not. He called me at the newsroom last week (he must have remembered I mentioned I copy edited there), and asked me to dinner. I turned him down on the grounds that I had to work until 11 that night. He asked me to meet him for drinks afterward, and I figured meeting him with a few other people would be innocent enough. I left work early that night, and really didn't want to meet him somewhere by myself, so I stood him up. I would have called had I had his phone number, really. As little as I was looking forward to explaining about the boyfriend situation, I knew I had to. Boys have this mysterious way of disappearing the second you say the word "boyfriend" (which is an entirely different rant I'll get to some other time).
The other day, I was presented with a bouquet of pink daisies in front of the whole newsroom (which is more like a junior high class, judging by the amount of teasing that goes on incessantly). Very much from him, with a ridiculously sentimental note attached. Action had to be taken! I couldn't endure this sort of thing anymore. I finally got a hold of him; I thanked him for the flowers, and gave him the "I've been dating someone for almost a year and a half, and it's pretty serious" thing. He reacted much better than I expected, and suprisingly, he's going to meet us for drinks tonight. (Both my mom and Michael think he's still going to try something. What they don't realize is that I'm a white belt in karate).
So here's the deal: admittedly, Shane is very attractive. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, the whole nine yards. I don't care if he looked like a hybrid of Hayden Christensen and Brad Pitt; I have a boyfriend who's not only gorgeous, but smart and funny and perfect. That's not the issue. The issue is that I probably would have assumed this guy was a stalker if he hadn't been good-looking and seemed like the kind of person I'd normally be friends with (doesn't like country music, doesn't wear tight cowboy jeans, doesn't smell like tobacco, probably finished eighth grade. You know, the usual checklist I make for potential friends). But he was, and I gave him a lot of credit for it. But honestly, what's so different between him and the retarded grocery store bagger who asked me to a movie a couple of weeks ago? (eek, that sounds like a variation of a bad Special Olympics joke; don't answer.)
06-28-2002 12:59 PM - comments (0)
I need to be much more careful with my posts. Michael called me this morning so upset because he thought something was really wrong. We got off the phone last night around 4:30 (yikes!) and we were just giddy, so I can understand why he was confused. Christie, Jen and Kaity all asked me about it. Here's the very non-dramatic story: I had watched a show on Animal Planet last week about a den (?) of baby tigers and it showed them growing up into big tigers. It was really amazing to see them interact with the humans. Anyway, I watched a show last night that was sort of a follow-up to that show, and one of the tigers got sick and died. I honestly was really upset about it.
Add that to my watching of a repeat newscast from last night about the whole Pledge debacle--people here are just really ignorant. The superintendent of the Amarillo school district made some comment about how "men have fought and died" for the values in the Pledge (and I wondered, did this man know the words "under God" were added after World War II?), and anyone who thinks the decision was right has something wrong with him/her.
So basically, I scared some people unnecessarily. I'm sorry about that! Next time I'll be more specific.
06-27-2002 11:03 AM - comments (0)
I am too upset for words right now.
06-27-2002 1:34 AM - comments (0)
I'm sure you've probably heard about the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeal's declaration that the Pledge of Allegiance is unconstitutional. If the ruling stands, students in the nine Western states the court represents will not be allowed to recite the pledge.
This ruling is shocking everyone: conservatives, expectedly, and more surprisingly, Tom Daschle and most of the mainstream liberal politicos. I realize my opinion is unpopular, but I believe the court's decision is absolutely right. It occurs to me that such a decision should have been made years ago. Requiring children to pledge allegiance not only to their country but also to the Christian god is morally reprehensible and violates the Constitution.
Most people probably will put up a fuss about this ruling. Why change things now? Is it that difficult for people to hold their tongues and recite a simple pledge? My answer to those arguments is this: there are a few people left in this nation who possess some form of moral conviction. To demand that an atheist, Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim (or anyone else with beliefs that cannot tidily be labeled as Christian) engage in behavior that contradicts with his or her beliefs is in no uncertain terms despicable.
When I was in seventh grade, I moved to Texas. I was not only forced to pledge allegiance to the United States flag, but also to the Texas flag. Finally having reached the age where my beliefs superceded my desire to be accepted, I refused. A number of times my behavior was called into question, and each time I defended myself appropriately: I believe in God. I don't feel the need to broadcast that belief to my closest of friends, let alone a classroom full of people I don't know. I believe in my country. Likewise, I don't have to salute the flag to be a patriot.
After September 11, our country mourned, and quickly began doing what it does best: competing. We competed to see who was the biggest patriot by lining our cars and homes with flags. We competed to see who supported the president the most by refusing to bat an eye when questionable legislation was passed. We competed to see who could dispose of any worried thoughts that might contradict the newfound patriotism we possessed. In doing so, we committed a heinous crime: we spit on the very beliefs our country was borne from and is supposed to stand for.
True American patriots know that it is our freedom of speech and subsequently freedom of religion that is what we must celebrate and protect at all costs. Silencing the minority is unpatriotic. Supporting a president and his decisions without question is unpatriotic. Forcing citizens to pledge allegiance to God and country is unpatriotic.
"Each must for himself alone decide what is right and what is wrong, and which course is patriotic and which isn't. You cannot shirk this and be a man. To decide it against your convictions is to be an unqualified and inexcusable traitor, both to yourself and to your country; let men label you as they may."
-Mark Twain
"Morality is of the highest importance -- but for us, not for God."
-Albert Einstein
06-26-2002 4:48 PM - comments (0)
i deserve to be dragged out into the street
Yet another downside to living alone is that my taste in television shows has hit rock-bottom. I now watch the following shows with some regularity: Sorority Life, Road Rules, The King of Queens, Cheers reruns and anything on Animal Planet/E!/A&E.
Yes, yes, I know.
06-25-2002 1:06 PM - comments (0)
There are three things that I think sum up Amarillo quite nicely: a gigantic horse statue situated in front of the main door to the Globe-News building; a gigantic pair of panties hanging on the wall in Rumors, the bar of choice for weary copy editors; and a building with a gigantic sign that reads "Modern Woodmen of America."
There aren't enough cherry vodka sours in the world for this place...
06-24-2002 8:28 PM - comments (0)
Happy 16-month anniversary, Michael. August can't come soon enough.
06-24-2002 11:27 AM - comments (0)
makeoutclub gives kissing a bad name
After much contemplation, I have decided to do absolutely nothing this evening. Unless you count obsessing over makeoutclub and making fun of all the people who are trying way too hard. The ones who are not trying to turn their list of favorite bands into some lame-ass poem, who don't "heart making out and stars," whose pictures haven't been artistically doctored and who aren't scary-straight edge or scary-total opposite of straight edge are the ones I would probably like. Mainly because they're not trying to trick anyone into thinking they're better or cooler than they really are. I'm sure some of the people on there are way too cool for me (and words, or even sentences that make sense), but how about the ones showing off? What do they do when someone actually wants to meet them?
I don't know. It just seems to me that if you want to have a meaningful relationship with someone, you have to come back down to earth and have priorities. I'm definitely of the school of thought that suggests people are entitled to act their age. No one's expecting 20-year-olds to reprogram the radio stations in their cars to soft rock and to line their closets with pantsuits. But aren't some of these people going to be embarassed in a few years about the way they talked, dressed, were? Peer pressure is peer pressure, mindless is mindless and it doesn't make a difference if your uniform of choice is a halter top and low-rise jeans from Abercrombie or a too-tight striped polo shirt and rolled-up jeans with a studded belt from Goodwill. It doesn't make a difference if your playlist consists of Creed and Dave Matthews Band or Mooney Suzuki and Belle and Sebastian.
Yeah, yeah, it's their lives. I know. It doesn't mean I won't continue to feel sorry for (and be annoyed by) people who can't be themselves.
06-23-2002 8:53 PM - comments (0)
I watched some show on MTV about the next big things. Some comments:
1. If you think the Hives are cool (which would be totally acceptable), you do realize they sound just like the spawn of Buckcherry and the Strokes, right? If you think those aforementioned bands are gross, I do not permit you to like the Hives.
2. The Vines, judging from what I've heard, are a decent replication of Nirvana.
3. Michael has pretty good taste: Jack Johnson is quite good, and I teased him about liking him before I heard his music, calling it "new-uber-country-alt-trendy-stuff." It's just folk music. Why can't labels be simpler?
06-23-2002 1:40 PM - comments (0)
then i'm going to beat her to a bloody pulp!
I know we all preach about the "value" of "honesty" and such, but I've come to believe there's nothing better than having a person in your life who agrees with and defends you no matter what. People who maybe like you so much they might actually already agree with your screwed up thoughts or anger toward someone. Most of my friends tend to be unconditionally "on my side" when any conflict arises (even between me and a box of Thin Mints: "eat them! all of them!"). I've compiled a handy checklist so you can be sure your friends fit the definition of "brainwashed":
Your friend...
1. May be rational in everyday life, but understands your predicament, no matter how convoluted and nonsensical it appears to be
2. Must be able to soothe and calm your frayed nerves while making sure your original anger at the guilty party remains intact
3. Actually offers more reasons why your anger is justified ("remember that time he/she...?")
4. Offers to beat up guilty party, repeatedly
5. Offers to take part in any twisted, evil plans you have for guilty party
6. Comes up with even more evil, twisted plans for guilty party
7. Comes up with nicknames for guilty party, whether they make sense or not
8. Has shared hatred for "that kind of girl" or "that kind of guy"
9. Makes sweeping negative generalizations about said girl/guy
10. Lists dozens of ways in which you are superior to guilty party
11. Isn't stingy with hugs
Thanks, Chase, Christie, Jen, Kaity, Melissa, Michael and Tiffany.
06-22-2002 10:59 AM - comments (0)
In case I haven't made it ridiculously clear, I love my boyfriend.
Please note the carefully-constructed syntax of that sentence. I can keep reminding everyone if necessary.
06-21-2002 12:00 AM - comments (0)
I really like the song "Breathe In" by Braid. I'd like it a lot more if both of my speakers were working. Somehow this is all my father's fault. I seem to remember him dropping one on the hard, hard tile and letting out a guilty "oops?" Oops won't bring back Speaker #2!
I had a dream last night that someone in the newsroom kept quoting from Austin Powers and that we all wanted to kill her. When I woke up, I realized that person was me. I only quote from adolescent boy movies in my head, though, I swear!
06-20-2002 10:47 AM - comments (0)
you look so fine
i want to break your heart and give you mine
you're taking me over
it's so insane
you've got me tethered and chained
i hear your name and i'm falling over
i'm not like all the other girls
i can't take it like the other girls
i won't share it like the other girls that you used to know
you look so fine
knocked down, cried out
been down just to find out i'm through bleeding for you
i'm open wide
i want to take you home
we'll waste some time
you're the only one for me
you look so fine
i'm like the desert tonight
leave her behind if you want to show me
you're taking me over
over and over
i'm falling over
over and over
you're taking me over
drown in me one more time
hide inside me tonight
do what you want to do
let's pretend happy end
let me know let it show
ending with letting go
let's pretend happy end
-garbage
06-19-2002 9:20 PM - comments (0)
sleepy eyes and tingly fingers
I'm guessing it's because I'm on a Mac that the screen looks screwed up right now. In fact, there are maybe five sites of all the ones I visit regularly that look the way they're supposed to. Oh, how I hate Macintoshes. (Please do not refer to any entries I may have written suggesting otherwise. As we like to say in rehab, "I was in a strange, strange haze at the time." Oh, no, I'm not in rehab. That was Christie. Sometimes I feel like we share a brain!)
I was assigned to design and copy edit the obituaries page tonight. As a result, I'm suffering from both a massive headache and contemplating my mortality.
I will take up one and only one hobby this summer: learn website design/learn a computer language or write a screenplay. Please help me decide in the first Ouranophobe Needs a Hobby election. E-mail me by June 25, 2002 with your choice. If you vote for the latter and would like to make an appearance in my screenplay, please indicate that as well.
06-19-2002 7:55 PM - comments (0)
one by one, they were all becoming shades
When Michael and I first started seeing each other, I was reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in a humanities class. I marveled at how much Stephen Daedalus reminded me of Michael. Their souls, I surmised, were nearly the same and therefore linked somehow. So at the same time I fell in love with Michael, I fell in love with Stephen.
I haven't read all of Joyce's work. What I have read indicates to me that he is clearly the greatest writer of the twentieth century. Even better, when I read his short stories before going to bed, I feel closer to Michael, a feeling that isn't surpassed by any other.
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly on the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey laid buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
"The Dead"
06-19-2002 10:25 AM - comments (1)
So far, my day has consisted of: watching soap operas, eating cereal, singing in the shower and sending my boyfriend some uplifting e-mails (so his day at work is more interesting). After two days of wearing dirty-denim jeans and a teal tank top with the word "candy" emblazoned on the front in dark teal rhinestones, I thought it would be nice if I got a little dressed up today. The result? A ruffly pink bohemian shirt with all-purpose Gap denim skirt and dark brown slides. Not as dressy as I'd like, but certainly girly enough.
And now that you're all bored out of your minds, I will direct you to a much more interesting blog, the Chris Hill Festival. Of all the negative273 community blogs, the Chris Hill Festival is the most likely to serve as a journalistic watchdog. He's also very subtle and very funny.
06-18-2002 12:22 PM - comments (0)
I decided to give in to my inner geek and watch Star Trek: Generations last night on the Sci-Fi channel. I've seen it before--I think on Father's Day about eight years ago--but I had forgotten the part about the nexus that sweeps you away into complete and utter joy. Your entire life would be without want and without pain. I realize it's silly to start seriously thinking about something from a Star Trek movie, but I began imagining what my life would be like if it was entirely comprised of good feelings. It scared the hell out of me. My stomach began knotting up, and I was honestly having problems breathing. I can't adequately explain why the idea of a flawless life terrifies me; I think it primarily has to do with my fear that it would be an illusion and nothing more. I worry that I'd be missing out on reality, and the ups and downs it carries with it. It's sort of like being home on a Friday night and realizing that everyone else is out having fun without you, even if that fear is totally unfounded.
I thought I had begun to solve the problem of worrying about what everyone else was doing. I simplified my life and narrowed my interests. I have a few very important friends. I have a definite lists of things I do not like: crowds, big parties, backless shirts. I enjoy time to myself. So this newly pronounced feeling of being scared of missing out--even assuming my new reality is as perfect as heaven--seems a bit archaic. Instead of worrying about my isolation from the nameless crowd of people being complete without me, I'm now worried about how well that nameless crowd function without me.
So I am a true ouranophobe. It's strange how things work out.
06-17-2002 11:44 AM - comments (1)
y'all, don't even talk to me right now
There's a Road Rules marathon on and I really hate Road Rules. It's a stupid, stupid idea for a show. Dare I go so far as saying it's the poor man's Real World? But I'm finding the tension between Veronica and that crazy, needs-to-take-anger-management classes black girl (I really don't know how to spell her name. Apologies if you're offended by me describing her based on her race) to be very intriguing. Much more intriguing than, say, going to work. On a Saturday.
06-15-2002 10:21 AM - comments (0)
maybe he'll leave the light on
I am finding my life here in Amarillo to be quite satisfying. There's something healthy and pure about living alone, about being alone. Going from being surrounded by people every minute of every day for two weeks, eating and drinking too much and not sleeping enough to sleeping 10 hours a night, relaxing in the mornings, taking long, indulgent showers and being alone with my thoughts is strange, indeed. I'm not lonely yet. I'm sure it will hit me sometime in waves of desperation. For now, I'm happy to go to lunch by myself, take my time ordering, sit in silence for an hour.
Last night I was driving home. I was listening--really listening--to "Tyler" by the Toadies, and I was making a right. The streets were barren but for a homeless man asleep on the sidewalk. The light was red, and I waited patiently until it turned green. No, that's not right. I didn't wait. I wasn't even aware of a red light, of something asking me to stop against my will. I stopped because I wanted to. I realized when the light turned green that I had never been in a situation where I wasn't hurrying through whatever it was I was doing. I am the kind of person who makes rights on red lights. I am the kind of person who honks her horn at slow drivers, who clocks her driving times to school and work. I am the kind of person who absolutely needs to be somewhere important at all times.
Last night, I was the kind of person who had nowhere to go and nothing to worry about. I can't begin to tell you how free it made me feel.
06-14-2002 10:51 AM - comments (0)
What will most likely be a source of continual disappointment is the absence of All My Children from the Amarillo ABC station's daytime lineup. Sigh. I suppose I will have to get a subscription to Soap Opera Digest.
Now I think Melissa is the one who is MIA. I've tried calling her and e-mailing her, and I haven't heard as much as a chirp. (She's thinking of getting new birds soon!) So Melissa, Melissa, where you be?
06-12-2002 9:45 AM - comments (0)
It is a very strange thing to get off of work at 11:30. It is even stranger to realize that I am not the least bit tired at 12:30. I need someone to come adjust my internal clock (and fix my biological one while you're at it, okay?). I had popcorn and cereal for dinner. I got lost in the Globe-News building. But I edited and designed a page in the front section of the paper. Really! I was like a high-schooler who just discovered Ritalin when the first edition came off the press. My boss asked me if I would come down from my high long enough to pack up and leave. I quickly moved from elation to sobriety and marched downstairs, where I proceeded to once again get lost. I pretended as if I knew what I was doing, feigning interest in the yellowed pictures lining the walls. Who knew photographic technology reached Amarillo during the last century? Not me!
One last note: the security guard was an old Asian man whose English, though severely limited, did include the following: "Push door, not pull them." Crafty old fox.
06-11-2002 10:47 PM - comments (0)
Michael has the uncanny ability of turning me from a self-assured woman into a puddle of little girl. Well, last night I wasn't so self-assured; visions of drive-by shootings danced in my head as I was getting ready for bed. Michael did everything except tuck me in.
I somehow slept from 11:00 until 9:47, and I'm still tired. How did I get by on so little sleep in Austin?
I fear it is time for me to find out if the shower is operational. Foreign showers give me the creeps. That and being shot through the ceiling by my neighbor upstairs when I'm in the shower. Who could have possibly thought me living alone would be a good idea?
06-11-2002 8:09 AM - comments (0)
y, people! Be a little adventurous, emphatic, high-voltage! Because frankly, ouranophobe isn't. (But at least it's not called Ouranophobe's Ramblings.)
Speaking of the weblog phenomenon (oh God, I sound like an old person), I'm starting to feel like I'm driving an '89 Cutlass while everyone else is speeding along in their sexy new hybrids. No, it's not my design; I'm still infatuated with that. It's just that everyone I know has a weblog. Everyone they know has a weblog. I heard my grandma got one to report on all of the nice-looking gentlemen with the pinstriped suits and suspenders in her nursing home. So I'll declare what I declared a year and a half ago when everyone had money and no one in the service sector needed to be competent to hold on to their jobs: we need a crash. A giant, horrific crash. We need there to be a huge tornado that sweeps through the Internet, wiping out some unfortunate weblogs so I can feel good again about our little phenomenon.
Then and only then will we see a return to good old-fashioned adventure, emphasis and high-voltage in our blogs.
06-10-2002 5:09 PM - comments (0)
when i try to say hello to you
And I apparently left my brain in Houston. I'm more disoriented than a sorority girl at a math competition. At least I have "You Spin Me Round" playing on my oh-so-missed Winamp list.
I moved in today. My apartment is...nice. It smells like the vast majority of apartments I've been in: vaguely smoky, Febrezed and impersonal. The apartment complex manager, Becki, surely represents most Amarillo-dwellers I've met: big hair; loud, garish Texas drawl. I feel like wherever I go, Amarillo-dwellers are eyeing me suspciously, waiting for me to slip and forget to say "y'all." My dad, much to my chagrin, seemed to be exaggerating his Jersey accent.
Melissa and Christie sound like they need a night of margaritas and John Cusack, Jen misses Paul and I don't even know where Michael is. I am alone, confused and interested in sleeping. And I can't figure out how to operate the TV, dammit.
06-10-2002 3:59 PM - comments (0)
I left my heart and soul in Kansas City this morning.
06-09-2002 6:36 AM - comments (0)
last night everything was right
I've been listening to the Get Up Kids a lot recently. Something to Write Home About was one of my favorite albums my freshman year of college, but I labeled it as a fun pop CD and nothing more. That sentiment vaguely resembles that entire year, so my interpretation made sense. I'm starting to hear it as an incredibly thoughtful and emotional album, the new soundtrack for my summer.
"sometimes I can think to recite
words that I read and rewrite.
my pens paint people that I’ve proven wrong.
get a job where I tell
all of my accounts of someone else
i’m quick enough to judge that they were wrong,
that we knew it all along.
sing a long long-winded song
I would be content to hum along.
if i state that my fingers know where to show
what everyone should have known,
i’ll let it go
hopefully you’ll forget any words that I put in print
my luck, you’ll change
have strength enough to walk away."
Don't worry. I still consider the Promise Ring to be a silly pop band and nothing more.
06-08-2002 5:34 PM - comments (0)
My luscious roommate Melissa has joined the ranks of the Internet's sexiest...check out her photo on the waferbaby sex project. Melissa, I love you, I miss you, and I'm calling you this afternoon, so be ready.
06-08-2002 11:41 AM - comments (0)
I desperately want to sit in front of my computer (a PC, thank you) and write and write about everything that's happened in the last two weeks. I had never considered the possibility that a copy editing training camp would change me, and yet the only thing I can think about right now is that I feel like a completely different person, far removed from the girl who drove to Austin on May 26. I promise I'll post something significant tomorrow--no more of these short, lame and impersonal blurbs about my day. I think I'm capable of something more.
But for now, calling my friends and sinking into bed with Elliott are much more pressing. I'm also looking forward to spending a little time on my own (I wonder if I'll get used to having privacy again?).
06-07-2002 6:59 PM - comments (0)
I know I said that I missed my "real" friends yesterday, but I have made some wonderful ones here. For example, Helen is very much my angel right now. And then there's Sean, who likes to show me disturbing pictures of kittens and an edict from God. And Lori, whose nickname is so vulgar I couldn't possibly post it here. As Jen says, this is a family website. Or something along those lines.
So I'm the news editor today, and I had forgotten how much pressure comes along with the job. I'm supposed to have the final say over everything, but people have this weird need to argue and argue and argue and argue. I really think they're arguing just because they like to be contrary and/or hear the sound of their own. I really think some of the people here need to take a break from editing (including me). I have to develop a balance between being firm and diplomatic. It's not easy, especially for a bipolar schizophrenic like me.
Tonight: a gay strip club called Boycellar. I jest not. It's our last night here, and we want to make it...good?
06-06-2002 12:52 PM - comments (0)
I keep promising I'll go to bed early. And what do I do? Stay up late and fall asleep on the phone with Michael.
I'm having this problem. I am really desperate for physical contact. I never noticed how dependent I was on people for hugging, touching, etc. I think I am having real issues here, people. If I could just have my cat around, maybe things would be better, and I wouldn't have to keep clinging to people here.
I've had "Pretty Woman" stuck in my head all day. And I want to sing it someone very badly. I want someone to push me on the swing out in the courtyard, and this time I don't want my flip-flops to fly off.
I miss my real friends.
06-05-2002 11:30 AM - comments (0)
I'm high! High on copy editing! We're putting out a publication called the Southwest Journalist later this week, and tonight's the "make-believe" night. I'm here in front of a computer at 8:40 p.m., nearly 12 hours after I started class in this very room. I get an adrenaline rush from writing headlines (my favorite thus far: Happy to be running out of gas/Fuel cell car's journey bodes well for vehicles of future), editing wire copy and getting yelled at. But a ha! for I am news editor for Thursday's edition. Beware my journalistic wrath...
Dear God, I need to get this off my mind. I need a break. I need to enjoy some time alone. I need to listen to music in my room with a blanket wrapped around me. I need to yell at my boyfriend for never posting about me, even though he swears I'm "the peachy-keenest."*
*Note: Michael would never say such a thing. But he's totally thinking it. Right, Michael?
06-04-2002 6:44 PM - comments (0)
My weblog is suffering from a mental and emotional breakdown right now. Too much to say and too little time to say it. But please believe me when I say Chase's brand-new site is going to have to be your ouranophobe substitute for the time being. Check out his lurid account of daily life, and bask in his glorious self-indulgence at http://fameandfortune.blogspot.com.
06-04-2002 8:57 AM - comments (0)
I will update my currently page this week, I swear. If it kills me! (Currently: dead!)
06-03-2002 1:11 PM - comments (0)
I think I remember now why I gained 10 pounds my freshman year. I am honestly unable to pick out the healthy food from all of the bad food in dorm dining halls. Today I chose: a piece of fried chicken, steamed spinach, chicken enchiladas, rice and a salad. I doused the salad in Hidden Valley Ranch dressing and garlic croutons, and I couldn't eat the spinach because someone had doused that in salt. So the healthiest thing I've consumed today is a glass of skim milk. Watch out, Amarillo, the Blob is coming...
06-03-2002 1:10 PM - comments (0)
Why am I having dreams about copy editing interns? I think they're getting under my skin. I feel vulnerable.
06-03-2002 7:17 AM - comments (0)
It's June, and I'm tired. I really thought getting 13 hours of sleep on Saturday night would mean I wouldn't be comatose this morning. How wrong I was. But there was Krispy Kreme this morning! And skim milk! No more eggy breakfasts, laden with cheese and bacon and onions and French toast. Maybe there wasn't French toast, but it was like a party in your mouth, and I'm sure that French toast would have been invited.
I'm feeling frantic right now; not being able to check my e-mail for 72 hours is definitely torture.
A good CD to fall asleep to is Asleep in the Back by Elbow. I dreamt of floating all night long.