if I weren't so sure I shall never be that old, own that lamp, or figure out how to knit so adeptly, I'd wish to be them.

I had a girl named Dana
From Aanta Anna
She was a waitres at the copa cabana
She was slammin and her ass was jammin
Like Janet Jackson in the Rhythm Nation
Her brother Jason had a girl named Grace
You could see her ass from outer space
So I landed on the planet
And planted a Mickey Av flag dammnit

I said, Six Kinds of Blue

I feel the incredible urge to scream and run till my legs collapse and my lungs burn.

You Only Ever Had Her When You Were a Fever

College apps make me pathetic and weak knee-ed.

It's a minor global economic crisis, but that doesn't mean i must go running around a'panicked and naked. Thus I compusively window shop (online). I tried to stick to basics, but that somwhat failed.

these are only the bare essentials. really.

1. sweaters are lovely


2. i'm a pathetic magpie...



3. tshirts are fun things. I'm often too lazy to find pajamas and simply fall asleep in that day's. No worries though-- i wash them routinely (guess that explains why each only lasts three weeks, tops)




cute how there's absolutely no pattern to the madness. Anyone tryna lend me their nice shiny plastic credit card? I'll trade you some old copies of Foreign Affairs and a nicely annotated edition of Love in the Time of Cholera

All Quiet on the Western Front is the most beautiful book I have ever, and believe will ever, read.

Dirty slut

H.E. I loathe you.  

HOW DID YOU FIND THIS THING?

MGMT is pure sex.

I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw, I'm in the prime of my life.

Let's make some music, make some money, find some models for wives.

I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars.

You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.

This is our decision, to live fast and die young.

We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.

Yeah, it's overwhelming, but what else can we do.Get jobs in offices, and wake up for the morning commute.

Forget about our mothers and our friends

We're fated to pretendTo pretend

We're fated to pretendTo pretend

I'll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms

I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the worldI'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home

Yeah, I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.

There's really nothing, nothing we can do

Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew.

The models will have children, we'll get a divorceWe'll find some more models, everything must run it's course.

We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end

We were fated to pretendTo pretend

We're fated to pretend

To pretend

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeahYeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

this song is fingerless gloves, sequins, and smoke.  

Get Jobs and Offices and Wake Up for the Morning Commute

I'm very much loosing my mind.  

epiphytes is a nice word.  this was not meant as a carefully placed example of a my slowly (rapidly?) eroding mental capabilities, but rather a commentary on the wonders of the english language.  I can barely speak it, I lack basic understandings of its structure, but I adore it.  Especially commas.  

Everyone has suddenly felt the need to tell me that "I need a boy."  Its always the same phrasing.  And yes, I am aware I do.  But i tend to fluctuate between absolute adoration and despair, since it is hardly ever mutual.  Yet, when it is, I'm incapable of processing the emotion.  I flip from wild excitement, with pounding beats and an inability to control my facial expressions, to one of mad disappointment.  It cannot be right, i must be misinformed, i must be a backup, they must be wrong, confused, mad.  I'm used to the disappointment, and I lock up.

Isn't that pathetic?  I'm seventeen, and haven't had a boyfriend, and still, still, i'm becoming an old maid.  I don't want to, i love boys and their idiotic ways and their desperate desire for acceptance and yet.....

I'm unsure.  At the risk of sounding egotistical and pretentious, I thought I was fucking pretty for christsake.  but I must not be.  I must be wrong.   

and suddenly this has transformed into another way that I fail, continually. I won't get into college.  why the fuck would brown accept me? its nine percent! NINE.  there are children with cures to river blindness and bizarre fetishizations of starving children in need of salvation, or the never ending drive to revamp their multibillion dollar, international company.

I got a 64% on my last bio quiz.  I do not understand how.  I used to get straight As in science.  I checked my physics and chem exams, and not one is below a 96.  

This is why i obsess-- there has to be one thing, somewhere, that i can be good at.  something that makes it ok that there isn't really someone who looks forward to seeing me the next day. I have friends, yes, and wonderful ones at that.  But I long for that one person who texts me randomly because a grafitti reminded them of me, or who hears something funny or angering and has to tell me.    I don't expect it to last,but even the heartbreak would be better than this.  

ugh emoemoemoemo i loathe myself for it.  perhaps i'll simply press delete.   

Wont you please let me go

These words lie inside they hurt me so

And Im not the kind that likes to tell you

Just what I want to do

Im not the kind that needs to tell you

Just what you want me to

I saw you this morning

I thought that you might like to know

I received your message

And in a few days ago

I understood every word that it said

And now that Ive actually heard it

Youre going to regret

And Im not the kind that likes to tell you

Just what you want me to

Youre not the kind that needs to tell me

About the birds and the bees

Do you find this happens all the time

Crucial point one day becomes a crime

And Im not the kind that likes to tell you

Just what I want to do

Im not the kind that needs to tell you

Ive lost you, Ive lost you, i've lost you

does anyone even read this?

I promised to my wife and children

a bottle of vodka just magically appeared in my laundry hamper.

someone, please, clarify. 

(i just realized...do any of you imaginary readers guess what songs the headers are from? I feel as if thats three quarters of the fun)

I Should Be Suspended From Class

So, let me introduce you to hell. Conveniently located in the heart of our nation's capitol (capital? my brain's rotting) it feeds off of abandoned college applications, overwhelming school work and piles (literally) of debate work. Yet this nutritious diet just doesn't seem enough for the devilish fat ass, so it requires a meer three hours sleep, freshman who don't shower, and lunatics.

My parents are gone this week, and I have a nice large house all to myself. My friends have basically begun frothing at the mouth at the prospect of it. And yet, while festivities are occurring, i most likely will be sheltered in my room, doing work.

Now-- the REAL devil may be the fine specimen of good old American hypocrisy-- Sarah Palin! Hollah at ya homegirl, this woman's a flaming bitch. Even the moose (god bless his soul) is straining THROUGH DEATH to get away from her body. And please, someone, explain that, although the words may sound confusingly similar, highlighters aren't meant for hair highlights.
I could go on a real political rant, but I think I'll settle for being a bitch. If you need a real reason to not vote for her, it really shouldn't be that hard. Here are some search terms:

1. "no experience" w/20 "Sarah Palin"
2. McCain "last second pick"
3. "Sarah Palin" w/30 minister AND "God Gave Alaska Oil So We Could Survive the Apocalypse"
4. "Sarah Palin" w/5 of Child of Satan


and yes. I know. I use the lexis too much. shut the fuck up.


You Really Must Watch This.


Music Will Begin Again shortly. Almost promise.

Don't try and wake me in the morning

dear fucking god.

school starts tomorrow, and since senior year festivities means hellish arrival at 7:15 i have to be up at six.

I havent gone to bed before 1 since final exams.

you may believe that to be an exaggeration, but I swear on the holy raptor jesus, i am royally fucked.

lying in bed for the last two hours has done nothing.

She's gonna teach me how to swim

I fucking adore MGMT.

eargasms every time.....every song's like the first five times I heard Dr. Dog's cover of Heart it Races.  

So anyway...yes, i'm a huge lazy slacker with an ass larger than putin's georgia fetish, but this summer has been (is?  gotta hold on to those last 2 days 6hrs and 43 minutes) perhaps the most incredible of my life.  I doubt there's any possible way I could explain how eight weeks of endless research on alternative energy incentives and the very small town of Hanover, New Hampshire could be so memorable, but just thinking about how its past and finished makes my eyes tear up.  God, i'm such a fucking hormonal girl.   Shoot me in the face.

Teenage summers are a unique thing....I doubt I'll ever make nearly as many stupid, reckless, purely idiotic decisions again, and yet they're what kept me sane.  I doubt my parents can stay oblivious to their total obliviousness (damn it, its late, i can't be a walking thesaurus), yet somehow they continue to refuse to question.   They grow angry when I'm innocent, and ignore the times when I so blatantly acted wrongly. I lie about nearly everything....its not as if I'm getting methed up in a dark alley, but I simply refuse to give them accurate information.  I ride with horrible drivers (often without a real seat and with suspicious substances stashed around the vehicle), take breathers in graveyards where the guards can't patrol, wander my neighborhood at 4am, drunkenly stumble through churches as my friends chase the sound of the choir, and have whole heartedly begun to question each and every statement offered up by my parents.  Its a period thats inherently a cliche, and yet to each of us it feels distinct and irreplaceable. 

However, college apps have arrived.  I now adore my life.  Its really cute how I have fallen in love with a college that happens to have an acceptance rate around 14% (21% if i apply early).  My college counsellor, bless her heart, snorted when i mentioned it.

I adore it.  More than anything.  I even researched their international relations program, spending three hours oggling over the website.  

I have to get in.

I SHALL FIND A WAY.

its 1:54.  I have about another four hundred pages of debate research due by monday, and that probably entails somewhere around 72 hours of work.  Cute.

i worship you all.  I may be the only one who read the Virgin suicides as tainted with a faint stream of hope.

Little known fact: Sarah Palin got Tom Brady pregnant, and then left him

lately you've been tan, suspicious for the winter

I've gotten a bit lazy, my apologies.  But this summer has been so incredibly spectacular-- if you disregard the manboy who has convinced himself that i am madly in love with him and thus took it upon himself to "convince" me that we should be "just friends,"  Mama X's attempts to prepare me for marriage through forced vacuuming, dusting, and scrubbing  of outdoor pillows with toothbrushes,  and the typical summer heat here.

No more negative nancy, damn i hate myself.

A few days ago a group of us were lazily lyring around my front porch when we were violently attacked by a shot of water and marshmallows.  seems B.M. and S.J. (the long names just had to go) had broken into my neighbors yard, jumped the fence, and armed with an 11year olds arsenal, bombarded my home.  The bloodiest water fight of all time ensued, and the boys ended up locked in my basement while H.A. W.S. and S.T. poured water at them through the cracks in the doors.  My poor laptop narrowly avoided death, but W.S. sacrificed her newly straightened hair to save my precious.  True love, right there.

A few days later we were left watergun-less, and thus without any relief from the heat.  H.A. and S.T. kidnapped me and together we broke into S.T.'s boyfriends Potomac mansion, where the most wonderful pool ever awaited us.  Of course, i would never break into a normal neighborhood pool-- only the pools of the rich and clueless would suit our purposes.  Much random wandering and eating later, i was stuck in the metro, begging for change so i could eventually get home.

i need a car.  preferably this one.

i'm going to stop myself before i become one of those blogs that recount every fucking second of the miserable slobs existence.  Unfortunately, i may be  one of those miserable slobs, so i'm not sure what i should be writing about instead, but i shall eventually figure it out.

Listening to: We're Not Gonna Take It - Twisted Sister

Vote!

Doc Martens having a contest for a new design and since I don't sleep i was prowling through the gallery.... and i adore these. could never pull of DMs, but someone else has to vote and get these.

I'd Bombard Your Alamo

I've finally figured out how to post mp3s, so maybe this will become less of a teenageanst blog and more of a useful music outlet.  i highly doubt it.   Anyways, i managed to survive the SAT IIs, and figuring that i was finally done with all my standardized tests (until i take my LSATs, which has become inevitable now that my entire family has decided that i must be become a corporate lawyer.  seriously guys, i'm not that huge of a bitch), i arrived home in a state of jubilation, itching to burn all my notebooks--until I saw this.

My flashcards, illuminated and glowing with the light of my skylight.  Could it be a sign from god? i tried really hard, but just couldn't find Mary's face.  however, i have visited a a church in Santa Fe that claims to be the site of a miracle simply because the priest once saw a light on the floor, perhaps i deserve an equal status.  Besides, it would make a seriously snazzy postcard.   

On another note, junior year is finished (finally), and i'm feeling pathetically nostalgic.  all my friends are at a graduation party till four, so i'm stuck lazing around my house, flicking through my iphoto gallery.  i really should get these printed, since somehow i feel like frantically clicking the arrow keys doesn't have the same feeling as flipping through a photo album.  There are several hundred snapshots of prom, and sorting through them is wonderful.  in all my glorious vanity, it doesn't pain me much to admit this-- for a bunch of faux-indie kids, we had a damn attractive limo.  our limo couldn't fit down the street, so were forced to have the now-necessary bag search in the middle of a perpendicular road.  Nico seemed nice, but appeared to have a bizarre fear of chewing gum and shoes, going so far as to loudly declare "No gum.  If i catch you, you're out.  Respect me, respect the limo."  he did a pretty shitty job searching bags, although the presence of oh, every teacher ever prevented foul play.  for the socially impaired such as myself, its excruciatingly painful to dance under the judgmental eyes of all our 20-something year old teachers..... especially when they then begin dancing far better than any of the kids themselves. 

oh, the embarrassing flashbacks just hit me.  i can't dance, what the fuck was i doing? how many feet did i mutilate? 

thank god i don't have to face these people till september.

in parting, here's part of my AP US/SAT II  review playlist, the title's above. 

The History of Excuses - Bishop Allen

Girl in the War - Josh Ritter

Master and Slave - Cherry Poppin' Daddies

Elvis- These New Puritans

Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) - The Decemberists

American Life- Madonna

Paragraph President - Blackalicious

Revolution - The Beatles

See America Right - the Mountain Goats

Uncle Sam Goddam - Brother Ali

Funk Terrorist- Metermaids and Sentence

the choices made sense in my head, promise. 

The Smartest Kid With Down Syndrome

shit damn i'm a huge bumbling idiot.  i sort of would like to go to college (an accredited college, please) and that means that i just slightly have to ace my SAT subject tests.

but oh, wait!

i went to prom last night, didn't sleep much, stalked photos of prom all day and now am writing on this bog instead of studying.

hopefully the literature and US history exams won't be that bad...those are my best subjects? usually? and i'm not that stupid all the time? so many question marks?

DAMN IT. i'm going to bed.

Listening to: Cheap and Cheerful (The Videoband Redistortion) - The kills

I'm gonna quit these rambling days

i wouldn't be this insane if it weren't for "Circe" and her soul of never-ending evil.   Proma hurts my head, and now geekcamps rocky.  Personally, i don't see what possible issue they could have with me staying the five interim days on the dartmouth campus unsupervised, but my opinion doesn't seem to be appreciated.  its the first week of summer, and i've already managed to get grounded, break my cell phone, accidently ditch fifteen people, accidently induce bodily harm, and develop a friendship with a questionably platonic status.  even when i attempt to become zen, my life devolves into hyperbole.  but i cut my hair.  its now near normal length...i've moved away from dirty yuppie to dirty hippie territory.  one day, who knows, maybe i'll be welcome at the  DAR-- but that would take a lot marrying. 

I wish i were him { <== },  although the blue guy is sexy too.   Its raining so my windows are closed, making my room a blistering 300degrees celsius (573 Kelvin! huzzah for chemistry) The raindrops are almost tape-worthy, perhaps i'll tap into my inner yogi and pretend this is a hot yoga studio.  but that implies burning calories and moving, and i'm far too lazy for that.  Tornado watch (here? this isn't kansas) and the lightening seems to be destroying powerlines across the region, so i'm gonna save my laptop battery for the imminent emergency and quit the whining.

listening to: the littlest birds- the be good tanyas 

Make it end

"Narcissa" makes me homicidal, and i'm abusing breathing exercises in a vain attempt to prevent myself from composing an angsty, immature, repulsive little rant.

As if that would work.  To spare the world, i'm simply going to redirect my anger towards a more, erhm, inanimate object: the kitten heel.

what the fuck.  really.  i've been searching for prom shoes for weeks and the kitten heel makes me want to cram the hideous, usually rhinestone studded, repulsive excuse for footwear up someone's nostrils. What purpose do these shoes possibly serve? They don't look dressy or classy-- they look like you robbed a small child  with sparkly butterflies in her hair.  They make legs look stumpy, ankles thick, and immediately imply that the wearer secretly has genital warts. Worse, they manage (magically?)  to impair ones ability to walk more than a higher, and thus perfectly acceptable, heel would do.  Don't like heels?I know, its shocking, but turns out there are these things called (wait for it...) flats.  If Mussolini were a shoe, he would be a kitten heel.  Who the fuck thought it was a good idea?  Did they step in gum while wearing  flats and then decided the new height somehow made them look better?  Were they born with some deformity that made them only able to balance at a heigh approximately 0.00078 cm above the ground? Do they have fully functioning retinas? 

That person should be slaughtered and buried in a shallow unmarked grave. 

go back to your 7th grade dance.  i'd prefer the smackers lipgloss over this crap. 

Listening to: If You Hate Your Friends You're Not Alone- Pretty Girls Make Graves

I'm set free to find a new illusion

I've finally shed the shackles of junior year (near alliteration, yes?)  and can frolick to my hearts delight.  Unfortunately, I leave for geek-camp in 14 days, so this frolicking will have to be cut short.  

My exam began at one, so i wisely began studying yesterday.  Another bit of genius struck me, and I spent the time alternating between repeated viewings of Eagle vs. Shark (see below) and obsessive facebooking with my friend "Ayn."   Today: Woke up an hour late, stumbled to school in cutoffs that made my thighs jiggle unattractively, and verbally abused every poor soul that crossed my path.

  Eventually found my friends and a lovely room filled to the brim with beautiful black rolling chairs, and set to work.  I got through maybe two of the twenty-two tenses before declaring defeat, and we left for thai. Returned, and promptly walked into the wrong exam room.  The proctor didn't notice, or decided not to tell me, until i had already worked for twenty minutes, at which point that fucking bitch (she pretends to not speak english, but i know she does as i've seen her speaking accentless out of school)  began yelling, kicked me out, and sent me to the other room.  Where my real teacher (ya know, the one who i adore and happens to be writing my college rec) told me I was a cheating liar who had severely disappointed him.  Supposedly i am not one who makes such mistakes, and he "no longer trusted me." When i attempted to finish the test but couldn't see the questions through the tears, he handed me chocolate, so i assume he realized thats theres no fucking way i could have been cheating from the front row of another Spanish IV class.  

Luckily, my favorite tense ever was alll ovah that shit.  As were an abnormal number of 'b' solutions. 

Spent the next few hours eating my feelings with friends, then went home. "Gaston" barged in with an absurd history SAT II, and we, uh, studied, for a few hours.  Then went for a run with the twin and "Hellen" and other festivities until got dragged home.

Theres a message on my facebook.  I'm avoiding opening it.  Such a huge fucking coward .  But look at this pretty picture from paddleboating last year.  

p.s. i'm officially in a relationshop with this gal, and this shall be our baby as soon as we kidnap it.  now i just have to find a way to stop liking boys and switch teams and my life will be perfect. 

p.p.s. i only recently learned its not p.s.s.. if i'm wrong i shall throw myself out the window.

listening to: I'm Set Free- Velvet Underground

Sunday Bloody Sunday

I am truly devestated.  Look at him...what a stud.   Yves Saint Laurent, you shall be missed. 

All One Needs is Spanglish

I'm totally (totes?) not feeling this whole spanish-exam-studying thing.  And to make matters worse I can't go on IM, facebook, gmail or turn on my phone since I'm very carefully ignoring someone.  To make myself feel less like an uber bitch, I, in all my genius, decided that the perfect plan would not be to blatantly ignore but rather avoid....thus the blame is shifted away from me and towards him! Its his fault he couldn't think of a more creative way to contact me, duh.  

Great opening post, I know.  Now every reader (ha, as if theres more than one) is given a glimpse  of my neurosis.  Shit damn, i should get therapy, or a few oprah books.  But i can't stand the woman, why the fuck is her mouth so large and white?

My new favorite tense (my perfect subjunctive) beckons, and I guess I should go study.  But i still find it suspicious that we keep being forced to learn verbs such as "to squash" or "to drown."  Just cause theres some shit going down in Columbia doesn't mean we're all  violent freaks, you dirty bigots.  Go back to playing squash.

listening to: Diamond Hipster Boy - Washington Social Club