...with a sort of mental squint

Is it telling that every writing project I undertake ends up half-assed, half-baked, and half-done? LJ included.
I think I'm too afraid of criticism to actually complete.

Bah.

Things are well, I s'pose. It's been going swimmingly with Owen (he’s swell and I think we’re actually friends, too), I’ve got my health (marginally), there’s money money money money… monaaaaaay in my bank account (horrible reference to Disco Inferno!), my friends are still my friends, and did I mention I finally visited London?
Sooo I imagine there’s not much to tell. Most people only ever blog when they’ve got some sort of chip on their shoulder or if they live the kind of life you only ever get to read about. I’m most people. :D

Non sequitur: I’ve compiled the soundtracks to a ton of my favorite movies, and they could be your favorite movies too! I’ve got Juno, Darjeeling, Royal Tenenbaums, Dan in Real Life, Rushmore, Donnie Darko, a compilation of cool songs from Anthony Hopkins flicks, Crybaby (John Waters’), and…. Well, you get the picture. Ask, and ye shall receive.

I've finally regained hope!!

He is a giant and his name is OWEN.

A full foot and 7 inches taller than me...and I'm the happiest I've EVER been.


*happysplode*

July 20th, 2007

Santa Cruz Civic Auditorium

TARANTULA AND ROTTEN APPLES.

la vie est si belle!

I feel I should warn any and all people (or is it persons?) that, by some freak meeting of chance and coincidence, have landed on this page and intend to read the following for whatever intent or purpose:

 

This is the blog of a very adolescent girl.

 

Ergo, there will be kvetching.

 

Copious kvetching.

 

You’ve been warned!

 

Life’s not been so easy lately. I know the parental friction is a routine thing we all have to deal with, and frankly, complaining about it almost seems like a cop-out. The fact that it dominates pretty much every aspect of my life merits at least some dwelling-upon though, no?

It’s gotten to the point where Mom says things that are deliberately intended to hurt me. Having, during a period of reconciliation, admitted that the root of most of my antagonism is simply me too afraid of losing her trust again while at the same time too afraid to attempt anything to regain it…. it was like drawing a huge target on my chest and pointing a giant neon arrow straight at it.

What mother tells her child, no matter what rage the child’s put her in, that she is uninvited from her funeral? That the minute the child leaves for the last time, she’s cut out from her mother’s life?

I just don’t understand.

Perhaps it’s age, maybe it’s just sheer disgust. When our fights have degenerated to the level of petty squabbles blown up to epic proportions…there has to be a problem.

 

 I honestly believe that we would get along better if we lived separately. Some of the best moments we’ve spent together as a family have been when I’ve returned from a long (and by long I mean in excess of three days) trip and it’s as though everything’s been wiped clean. We get to start over again. By the end of day one the old petty tensions have resurfaced, but at least we got a moment’s respite.

So in that sense I’m desperate to get out, once I hit the magic one-eight.

 

But I’m really worried…what if I’m seeing 18 as the magic bullet? What if what she says is true, and I really am putting too many expectations on eighteen…as though one minute past midnight on September 14^th I’ll be an adult, and completely untouchable. I’m afraid that I’m expecting a huge change, while knowing that really, on September 14^th, or 15^th, I’ll still feel the same as I did September 12^th, or 13^th, and I’ll never be able to really grow up.

 

It’s still a couple months away.

 

I can’t wait.

 

Blah.

 

iTunes is on shuffle, Oren Lavie is playing, it’s nearly midnight, and I should feel so much happier than I am. It’s not that I’m depressed - I don’t think I’m physically capable of depression. It’s more a sensation of hating the skin I’m in. Sometimes I’d just like to step out of myself and recreate myself. There’s always that brief moment that  --- PUSH. Then the realization that no, this is it, this is what I’m stuck with and there’s no starting over. For a minute I feel like rebellion…and then lazy complacency sets in. Maybe it’s because it’s summer. It’s historically been the season of reinvention, at least for me. There’s always the crazy urge to chop off all of my hair and dye it some unnatural color, and then the urge to pretend to be part of a scene, any scene, until fall starts up and I revert to my quirky ways.

 

Le sigh.

 

Perhaps I need a break from break. I’m not truly happy until I’m doing something, even if something entails burning daylight doing positively nothing. As long as I’m happy. Heck, I’ll even settle for complacent. At least until my 18^th.

...

I'M SEEING THE PUMPKINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I'M SEEING THE SMASHING FRIGGIN' PUMPKINS!!!!!!!!!!!

so it's not the original lineup...so D'Arcy isn't around... so Jimmy Chamberlain has changed his style a bit...

It's Billy Corgan.

I'M SEEING THE PUMPKINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tommy Wiseau in Playboy Adventures 2?!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=78bgVOMdfiw

The jury's still out (He plays the doctor for all of three seconds).

KERMIT.
I don't think anyone could even begin to grasp the love I have for muppets. Kermit, Oscar, and Elmo in particular, not even myself. Or is it I?
There's a certain gratification in acknowledging that you have a fetish for the campy and kitschy. "Plan 9 From Outer Space" can only really be enjoyed knowing that you're about to waste 2 hours of your life on an Ed Wood crap-fest, and loving every second of it. Blasting A-Ha and Simple Minds, and not cringing at the lyrics. Or for that matter, memorizing the words to "The Rainbow Connection" and loving every second of the sappy, first grade recitals across the country be damned! 
Even the fact that I saw these b-horror movie victim action figures in a shop window in Ithaca last summer and squealed like a fangirl is deliciously liberating.
It's finding the balance between kitsch and real life that's hard. If I'm not careful I may end up collecting those wall-mounted singing fish (though I do have a soft spot for them) and spouting cliches from a platitude-a-day calendar.
I guess after a quarter filled with pompous, self-important critics who think their overblown, blowhardian ideas are the end-all and be-all of crit-lit... a little dabble is excusable, jes?
So forgive me if my normal jabberings are filled with obscure 80s slang - John Waters waits for no man, and Herman Hesse can .... pull a  Divine in the last scene of Pink Flamingos (sick). BRING ON THE GLITZ AND CAMP.

***

In other news!

I AM SICK OF HAIR. Just though I'd throw that out there.  

Veronica Mars-athon!! I don't think we got ANY sleep at all that night. Sleep deprivation can do some pretty crazy things to a group of restless teens, particularly since we were hopped up on VM. I somehow transcended the mists of time and was able to witness Fiona's birth:
                     "You emerged from the womb, took one look around you, and said "Eh. Seen it all."

Dickens? The DICK part is particularly appropriate. 

And I'm unbelievably tired of being excel-less. It's been nearly a year!!! Be warned.

Tough day. One for the dogs.
This quarter has not been treating me kindly.
I also had the rather dubious pleasure of discovering my angry side. Woo.

Camping at the slot was fun though. Lots of Russians. Lots of alcohol! Lots of drunk, guitar-playing Russian college boys. Just lots. Maybe next time we'll actually go riding, yes? If you people come as a big group...it's like Catalina boozed up.

Also, I'm glad I have friends. Danni, Christine, Marg, Fiona, Maggie, Lea, Eugene, Matthew, Steven, Stefan, Aiden, Shane, Mike, and even Kindel, you guys rock. Thanks for putting up with me. ILY.

Got the internship.

!!!

He also said that if the project gets green-lighted there'll be a spot for me as either Third Assistant Director or assistant to the Director, or SOMETHING.

!!!


In other news, I'm camping this weekend with Danni at this Russian doohickey. Inabilit to understand the language? Check.  Chances of being surrounded by intimidating college men? Check.  Potential for crazy russian fun? Check.

meeting with  Mr. Herskowitz tomorrow...wish me luck!!

On a totally different note:

My notes for 469a for the day:

Mushrooms. EATMUSHROOMS. MUST HAV MUSHROOMS. MUSHROOMS make you grow tall. Want to work abroad - comment? Je veux travailler ailleurs, how? Mushrooms make good pillows. And they're YUM YUM YUMMY. Ah, the creamy creamy creamushroom. How bon it is! [people who exercise power do not always have authority...good to know] NO small potatoes. FOR MY NEXT TRICK. I will conjugate the verb "enculer". Ladies and gentelmen, this means fuck. S'enculer: Je m'encule. Tu t'encule il/elle s'encule, nous nous enculons, vous vous enculez, illes/elles s'enculent. In short, we've fucked ourselves. Wonderful - sarafian's gone off on one of her tangents. I don't think we'll even come close to covering what we need to. Gaaah. TRAITORS. If this is in the intro, why are we discussing it in the first place?! Haha: MOTHERS GIVING BIRTH TO LOCUSTS and OMG he just referenced Bungle In The Jungle. I <3. Though the bassist diiiiiiiiid get a sex change. Or was it the drummer. Her pictures are so ugly and you can tell it's a man with a rookie vagina. It's the fear. Fear of the POWER OF THE VAGINA or so sarafian says. UGGHHHH. OH FOR GOD'S SAKE SHUT UP AND TEACH. ...and which whore should I lay? Did I hear her right? Lovely.
Clitopia is a word. I hate the word clit. It sounds so gross. I don't think women should have clits. Men always get the good names. Fructification sounds like it should be dirty but it isn't. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. For my next trick, I will fructificate. 50 dollars a pop. Let's be frank people. What really IS the importance of being Earnest?
Oh she'sletting us out early I think i hope I think I hope I think I hope I YES YES YES. GOODBYE CRUEL SARAFIAN.

Fire is not cool.

***

I've been attempting to get through Middlemarch and failing horribly. What woman would write (hah, alliteration, 4 w's) an 800 page book and on top of that, mix in philosophy, science, and characters that are religious zealots?! At the same time, I'm really envious. I haven't got the urge nor found the motivation to write in months, and while Eliot may have written one of the most torpid novels ever, at least she wrote.

I think I need a break. I want to see Rocky Horror at the Rialto Sunday night. It could be sweet.

HAH.

I spent an hour sitting outside a building in downtown L.A. waiting for my parents.

SO I figured I'd ramp it up and start singing along loudly to my iPod. 
SO I did.

SO I wish someone would have had a camera around, because some of the reactions were priceless.
One guy even yelled "FUCK YOU!!!!" from across the street.

You're welcome!

Wednesdays are overrated.

 

Today was not a good day, in any way, shape, or form. Some nice things did happen -  but I think the only adjective to describe today is "bleargh."

A good Stevie Wonder marathon and a cuddle with Sasha (doggie!!!! I have her trained to shake paws now, I'm SO proud. :D ) might just be the cure for whatever needs curing.

p.s I actually made pie. Who wan' some? Then again... what have you done for me lately? And how the fuck can anyone call Dane Cook funny?!?! HE MUST DIE.


quick note...

This makes me giggle:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tiUeBQWN1cE
The sad thing is.... this is actually for REAL. I like how the Arquette family has one, maybe two good progeny, and the remaining gabazillion of them are one big pile of snatch. I <3 Hollywood.

 

Hi.

So... ummmmmmmmmmm. 

Imaybepossiblyworkingatastoryboardingpre-vizinternshipthissummer.

I'm so excited I'm actually tingling. 

Yeah...there's no doubt about it! This is what I want to do with my life!

jbhwbwgjkbwg!^!()(!(893489*&^#(*&!)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*boom*

Next stop, USC! Hopefully maybe.

Speaks for itself, don't it?
(Found written on bus)

I'm so off kilter today.
I usually knit as a stress reliever, but I was so twitchy that I ended up stabbing people (by accident?) and messing up really simple things and doing really stupid things in class. (Luckily Garrett didn't notice I was asleep or I'm pretty sure he would have tossed me out of class.) Oh, and then I saw Alain. Now THAT'S a story.

Urrgh.

Good things did happen though! I took the bus today (gasp!) and spent the two hours it took to get to school from Glendale (I'm not entirely sure how that works) chatting up the busdriver and learning the Dao of Mauricio. (I forget what it is, but I'm pretty sure it involved promiscuous sex and buddhist chanting.) Then I COMPLETELY ACED A MIDTERM (fuck yeah). I finished in 40 MINUTES. SUCKIT SARAFIAN.  Hmm... there was also pudding.

Mm. Pudding.

That MAY have been the highlight of my day.

Ick. Ever since the whole Gilson mess things have NOT being going well. I think I'll go watch 30 Rock and learn how to be more imposing.

p.s I'M GOING TO BE WORKING AT THE LIBRARY maybe possibly.  And there are pirates guitar battling across the street. :D

Pantsoff Danceoff + Air Guitar Championships = Team Adzie ROCKIN' THE CASBAH GLENDALE STYLE.


OH YEAH.


In other news I hate my hair. whywhywhywhy?

DIRTY SALACIOUS CONFESSION SCANDAL:I like Justin Timberlake's new stuff. Shoot me?

I LIKE TO CAPITALIZE AND USE PROPER GRAMMAR. This makes me a bad person!

Okay. I should sleep now.

Festival Of Books!

Is it slightly sad that I get excited over that?

 

So at the moment I’m sitting watching “This Is A Knife” while my brother decorates his arms with math references and smiley faces in blue Sharpie. Then he spits on his arm, smudging the ink all over, and repeating the same line from Charlie and The Chocolate factory over and over.

 

“Violet….you’re turning Violet!”

 

My god my life is so uninteresting. : D

 

I spent the whole day yesterday pretending to write a paper on “Emma” for 446 with Garrett but in reality tooling around on the interwebs all day trying ever so hard not to watch Ze Frank…but I couldn’t help it. The Fabulosos were calling me, I swear!

But I hate how I keep procrastinating this shit. I mean, this is something I’m supposedly good at, yes? Something I love, right?

 

Err.

 

If hating essays makes me a bad person, I’m friggin’ Quasimodo.

 

Let’s face it, if there were a major in doing nothing but reading and watching movies all day, I’d be dean of the department. Or whatever. The point is, if it weren’t for the fact that I LOVE literature I’d never have become an English major. I’m sick of all the pretentious poufs who lounge around talking about “post-modernism” this and “feminist perspective” that. Did it ever occur to these hipsters that maybe a work was written just for that purpose - to be written? Sometimes there is no “underlying context” or “deeper social critique”. Sometimes an author just writes to express something intangible, some untapped emotion, some facet of life that’s just too good to pass up. I’m sick of over-analyzing, sick of critiquing, sick of bullshitting my way through classes I’d otherwise love. Wise up, Englites. Word.

 

Not that my other options are all that better. Rich waffles between support and antagonism - he’s all for me doing the Testing doohickey, but then he acts as though there’s no way I could live up to any expectations. For instance, he was telling Nancy (right while I was nearby) how if I “did what he wanted on the Testing dvd, he had great plans for me.” But only if I did what he wanted on the dvd.

 

Huh. I’ve never been mistaken for a psychic before…

 

ANYHOWZ.

 

I really should be working on “Emma”. Damnit!

You tell me. Does the novel hold up openness, sincerity, and frankness as important values for a civil society?  

 

Ah screw it. May as well go practice that dance and make a fool of myself.

 

Dance? Moi?

 

Oh yeah. I’m ghettolicious, haven’t you heard?

 

* * *

in closing…

Monday will be interesting. I think fiddler may know.

Also, Fiona’s going to kill me.

All I need is a facebook and my fate is signed, sealed, and delivered.

 

!!!BAD EDUCATION!!!

[I have weird fetishes]

 

the end

Omg.

LiveJournal.

Does this make me instantly cool or something?