when a person loses a spouse, you're called a widower.
when a child loses its parents, they're an orphan.
but what do you call a parent who loses a child?
i guess it's just too fucked up to give a name.
---Six Feet Under


I wonder what will happen when you find more comfort in your pillow than in another human being?

i start classes on wednesday and i have the worst skin ever! anyone suggest any quick pore cleansing/acne washes?

damn you chocolate. you are my kryptonite!

tax free week!!!!!!!!!!!!

i just watched the most fucked up japanese horror movie that i've ever seen. It's not a happy ending and I want to watch more flicks like that. Downfall: it's in japanese with korean subtitles. good thing that i didn't take those "learn korean in 12 easy steps" courses. i would have definitely understood the plot if i had.

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

hhhhhh...whatever.

Ok, I can't get this to email to Billy so i'm posting this here temporarily until billy freakin' empties out his stupid mailbox.


The Good Life: Album of the Year

Once upon a time, a farily new band named The GOod Life swept the indie scene with a burst of music. A deadly concotion mixed of sorrow, love, and three parts vodka. Please drink responsibily and preferably not after breaking up with a loved one.

He has developed a fine underground fan base with his band Cursive. Now Tim Kasher and his crew of sulking broken hearts create another album to add to the Saddle Creek collection. The Good Life's latest album "Album of the Year" must be the most appropriate name sharing intimate stories between the narrator and a lost love.

Tim Kasher uses his epert lyricism and blends it together with a folk sound. Using a mix of acoustic guitar, electric guitar, piano and barely audible drums, The Good Life brings life back to nights of contemplation. Tim Kasher's songs are more like short stories expresed severly hurt. Mainly writing about harsh break-ups or seeing an ex-girlfriend from high school at the local Starbucks, the Good Life keeps true to their old familiar sound while portraying life affirming love stories.

The first song off this twelve track-er depicts a long-term relationship within three minutes. From the first time they meet (in a girl's bathroom) to the day she moves out. Tim Kasher brilliantly plays a steady folk guitar in the background with a little twang of electric guitar. By the end of the song, a steady drumming of a bongo and snare. The beat picks up and then it's full-on Kasher magic. Still, the lyrics are deep as tears fill your eyes. The Good Life directs your senses to another point in time as well as place. They have redesigned the meaning of story telling. We sit in front of an open fire and roast marshmallows while Kasher converts the fire into lime light. He changes "kumbahyah" into songs like "You're Not You" or "Inmate."

To point out a specific detail of Tim Kasher's beautiful lyrics would be in "You're Not You." It feels as if he is your oldest best friend trying to look out for you. He describes your new beau as dominant and you just giving into it. He sings "no more excuses, no more denials, you're tired and you're drawing the line. You're nobody's lapdog, you're closing that door. You're not you, you're not you anymore." It may be true to some, but a little lagging on the real sympathy. You feel as though you're his friend, but then the reality that this is just a song hits in right in the middle of the song and you don't feel as special as you did before.

At least you get to hang out by the campfire.




Simone.

Felicidad.

There was another person who had a seizure on my mass transportation. When you live in Queens, you must be prepared. One of the many safety services that you must need is how to treat a seizure.

Step One: Gasp!
Step Two: Call 911 on an available cellphone
Step Three: Make sure that the person having the seizure is laid on his/her back.
Step Four: Place something hard (ie: a compact/reports for work) within victim's mouth.
Step Five: Gasp again when he starts to make funny sounds.
Step Six: Make sure to put something under his head (ie: a blanket/jacket/suit jacket.
Step Seven: Learn the victim's name. (You can find out by looking through his/her briefcase or cellphone.
Step Eight: Find someone who speaks his language. NOTE: Not everyone speaks or understands english as well as you might in Queens.
Step Nine: Try and see if you can bring the victim back after he/she ahs blacked out.
Step Ten: Contact members of his/her family on his/her cellphone and wait for paramedics to remove him/her from the bus/subway.


Ten easy steps to deal with a person who is having a seizure on mass transportation.

Besides that, my co-workers believe I sound like that nerdy girl from American Pie that always starts her stories with "And this one time in band camp..."

You get what you need

Got a pair of black cons to replace the broken down gray cons.

School begins within two weeks.

I have found a love for the Rolling Stones.

I hope to move soon.

Come on baby light my fire!

Before I start writing let me just state something. i have been listening to 104.3 a lot. It's classic rock from the 60's and the 70's and I love it to pieces. I dance around my room all night and listen to some good soul lovin'/ass kickin' tunes. Right now they're celebrating the anniversary of Woodstock. So there's a ton of that good stuff as well. They keep on playing this commercial for some Dave Matthews Band show in San Francisco. I don't know why but I just have this hatred for Dave Matthews. Maybe it just grew. I never really got into him, but once I told people that it was like sin-filled blasphemy. I can't take that. "GASP! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DON'T LIKE DAVE MATTHEWS!" Chill. You didn't even give me a chance to listen to him. Asshole.

So. phenomenon today. There are these taxi drivers in town cars that drive around the Flushing Station picking up people. Usually they would honk at the people waiting at the bus stops. Especially the Q12 because that bus stinks! (my bus). Anyway, I saw I guess is a new taxi cab. A black stretch limo drove past my stop today honking its horn at the people at the stop. Either they were trying to pick up passengers or they were honking at some cute Latin girl. Either way, watching limos trying to pick up some passengers is funny. I thought they were doing so well just picking up celebrities?


I think i'm going to go see The Garden State this weekend. That or Maria Full of Grace, or some other movie that i forgot already. Damn, my memory just gets worse.

Night.

This is a long subject that no one will read.

Only a lover's quarrel
helps to bring the sunshine.
I've been bruised by my loved one
Wished it was all behind.

Only a single note you sang
Drifted me into a daze.
Now a different song is played
I am not tranced by your gaze.

Suddenly there came the day
When the sky was rich with hues.
And my wet eyes began to dry
My anger gone with you.

Like gentle autumn leaves
You tumble and drift away
And a smile appears upon my face
Nothing can bring me down today.

I've gotten help for all my weary feelings
Nothing helped me but the rain.
Soon all that past with one hello
And you're memory stopped giving me pain.

I'm free
And I'm glad that I'm away.
All the questions I left unanswered
Will seem to stay that way.

And your happiness is all I grant
Because I'm a better friend.
I might never see you
So I'll be happy until my end.


This little poem goes out to everyone that I left behind. I'm sorry to say, but I feel so much more alive when I'm in the city. When I'm away from my old friends. Away from all that drama. I know there will be a lot more drama for me in the future, but that doesn't bother me anymore. It won't be as petty as I felt when I was in my hometown. Back there, I was hollow and less than nothing. Mainly nothing. No one really cared or thought or even wanted to be near me. And I thought it was all me. Something was wrong with me, but there isn't. I'm flawed, I'm stupid and completely gullible, but it's a different feeling now. These friends. These people that I hang out with now in college just seem to be on teh same level as me. Some plane that I have been missing. I'm the bumble bee girl in the Blind Melon video. I walked around the town looking for my counter. Staring into the eyes of all these wonderful guys that I dated in my time. I never found it. I never found taht feeling that I was finally belonging.

Of course I belonged in Commack. In that town. In that wonderful place to live. I had friends that were there, partially. But I was broken. It all happened in seventh grade. It went downhill from the moment I hit puberty. everyone left me. If my family wasn't my family, they would probably leave me too. I was so jinxed. Completely null and void (favorite phrase of the day) from everyone. I never told anyone outside my family what the fuck happened to me.

But i assumed that someone out there in LJ-land probably cares a little and will read this whole fucking thing. I have no best friends. I lost them all and all respect for the word. No girl shoudl start of high school alone. It's like college. You have to make best friends with people who already established their best friends. Fit in like this big puzzle piece to a puzzle that's been completed.




I HATED FEELING THAT WAY. But now it's gone. My friends now are like my best friends and they already established the best friends and they stil make me feel like I've been there forever. And I become best friends with their best friends. ANd so on and so forth.

Mainly this little ditty was for Steve and Paul because fuck whoever they were in my lives because I'll probably never see them again in the first place.


Wow. I wrote a lot. I just had this big epiphany while discussing this with my friend Bryan. He's the greatest guy. I don't think i'm gonna be whiny in this journal ever again so I should let it all out right now.

I DON'T HATE COMMACK! and I don't hate anyone from there. I don't know why I got that feeling. It's just a memory in my mind and the past is the past.

Life is more interesting than dwelling in the past. Of course I'll still be pensive and sad once in a while, but that's when I think of the past. or something bad happened to me in the present or will happen in the future.


Just clearing up the air. Besides, I've finally found a person that was always there. ME!

I woke up

I went with my mother to buy tiles today. We ended up buying sinks for two of the bathrooms. In the midst of heading towards "Tile World," we end up in a wrong alley and watch as some crooked-legged prostitute tried to snag a man for the day. This was around 2 in the afternoon in a construction area. She saw us staring at her and screamed "What the fuck you staring at?"

Another great day in Flushing.

I requested the new Bjork album from STS. A few weeks later I requested the new The Good Life album from STS. I receive the The Good Life album before the Bjork. Come on, people. If you want me to do a review for you album, it's best if you send it to me first.

One of the writers on the magazine received 100 dollars with his cds from the promotion company. I want 100 dollars. It was more like a 100 dollar bill. But anyway, I would love to look at the smiling face of Benjamin Franklin any day.


Tomorrow is more tiles and I think toilets. I also watched "Under the Tuscan Sun" today. She runs away from America to live in Italy. Boy, would I give to have the strength and do that. All I want to do is move across the country.


Love.

Sometimes I regret things that I've done in the past. Sometimes those regrets turn out to be good choices. Others are so wrong that if I were to go back in time and change it, the position that I am in right now would be different.

But I have to learn not to regret. because if I make mistakes, then I'm goign to have to learn from them. If I make good decisions that I regret, I have to be able to control myself and not go back. I can't just do that. I have to learn to make up my mind!

And my mind says:

When one door closes another door opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.

--Alexander Graham Bell

I cannot be the closed door.

The Fairy Tale Where Everybody Dies

On the cover of the August issue of BLENDER there is a photo of Dave Chapelle.

Dave looks exactly the way he always looks: half dazed and probably hyped-up on some weed or drunk. Something's strange about his shirt though. A yellow silk-screen of the late Rick James. Of course this magazine had reached stands before he died.
The last cover Rick James will ever grace will be on the t-shirt of a man who mocks him. "I'm Rick James, Bitch!" would be the catchy phrase that our youth has sodomized until the asshole became an unpresidented size. Too big for any penis/dildo/vibrator of any girth. Even Rick James himself repeated these words at the latest taping of the BET Awards.
As I said before and will repeat again, the music world has been tied up tightly with the magic that is the presidential election. I walk down 14th Street in Union Square and I cannot pass without seeing someone sell those tacky "Beat Bush" t-shirts. Music for America has made it their top priority to educate the youth with information that slips from the lips of their parents. Bush is bad; we get it.

As for Rick James. I think he was a democrat. Or a liberal because with the amounts of drugs that he used in the past to give him a heart attack in the present must have been a liberal helping.

If you're feeling sinister...






...go off and see a minister.

wow.

It's August 5 and it feels like October 5. Just around that time when the leaves are about to fall off of the trees and the wind is slightly harsh, but not enough to blow your hat off.


Went to Rilo Kiley last night. Hott stuff. I saw Caitlin and jenn gabbles there. that was a big surprise. They did two-three encores!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love Blake...he changed his shirt twice. and jenny got bangs!

she's so cute and so is everyone else. I can barely hear now because the trumpet player was blasting that thing through the mic. Wow. I loved the show especially the first two bands. They were great and sad at the same time.

I also like Blake's blabbering. I couldn't understand a word he said and he made everyone laugh. I always love going to a Rilo Kiley show. It always lifts my spirits.

Now I'm in the salt mines trying to make a living listening to internet radio and filing. Woot. I'm surprised that I was able to get up after coming home at one.

A memory worth telling

There was this little hole in the curb right next to my driveway. The minute you step off the property, turn left and past the mailbox. Right there is a small hole, not even big enough to hold two peanuts. There was no significant importance of this hole. I didn't receive any magical powers. It was just a whole in the curb. Porbably a bubble or a mistake made when building that part of my block. Maybe a big stone used to lie there and one day some brat kid came over and tore that big, old rock out of the ground. It was just a hole.
When I was a little girl, it didn't seem like just a hole to me. It felt like some kind of treasure chest. I would get these little jeweled rings from the 25 cent machines and when the jewel fell out, I would just stick it right in that whole. It was a cove. Some strange cave where pirates used to keep their treasure. Just incase they get killed or even worse captured.
I hid everything in that whole. It wasn't even covered, just a shallow ditch. Like I said, some flaw in the design of my property.
The tragedy of the hole was that everytime the wind blew or when it rained or snowed, everything in that tiny, shallow hole would blow away. I wouldn't question it though. I would just shrug it off and add another jewel or two. Over the years I felt like the magic of that tiny hole was fading. I didn't see it as often as I used to when i was a little girl.
On my last day at my house, I decided to go and visit my little hole one more time. It was covered in blades of grass and bits of dried leaves. There was nothing in the hole. Nothing at all. When I was saw the contents, I didn't feel any emotions. I didn't cry or laugh or even be surprised. I just shook my head and thought shame. it was a great place to hide stuff. I walked away after that and never thought another thought about that hole until right now.

Maybe the reasoning behind the hole is that when we're little, this hole is huge. You can put seventeen elephants in there if we wanted to. We could cover the walls in pink and green paint, decorate it with old victorian furniture and have a band play every weekend or so. When we're older and there is no more time to have fun and games, the hole becomes small and almost forgotten. I didn't even want to know what happened. I didn't care. And when we think back to when we thought that holes this small were so full and big, it's some kind of sign that we haven't forgotten it all. That the little girl who filled her pirate's cove with treasures is still hunting for gold. That perfect stone to fill it with.

I guess I'm trying to say is that when we think back to days when we were happy, sad, depressed, lonely, weak, strong, emotional, heart-filled, loved, heart-breaking we become younger. We fill our memory with the mistakes and perfect moments that we had in the past so that we never get the stick up the butt. If we forget, it's like forgetting that you were ever even born.

I don't want the stick up my butt. I want to retain every detail of every memory I have so that when I'm 68 and so is everyone else, I can still pour treasures into my little pirate's cove.

:)

I can still feel the hookah in me.

So I went and took my first hits of the hookah. What a beautiful feeling. You get dizzy and happy for just a few seconds before the "high" evaporates. it was beautiful and we were just blowing smoke everywhere. Especially blowing smoke in the most sexiest of ways. I apparently do it the sexiest.

Haha...I'm trying to piece together the plans for tomorrow. I want to go and hang out.


I love the garden state and I want to see it again without the cost of paying so much.

Love.