Archive for February, 2007
Friday, February 9th, 2007
There are stars in my head. And stars in my bed. And across the street there are stars that are dead. I am tired, and looking forward to spending tonight with Camanneva.
Life is shaking up again. The death of Anna Nicole signals a new era of social, love, and office politics. I have been off the record. Choosing on Fridays and Saturdays to only appear in my own record, because the books I used to want to have a story in seem to be written in disappearing ink anymore. That’s really funny. Why don’t I just go cry at the Panic! show?
Being a Gemini feels like being a Pushme Pullyou.
There are two points of advice I’ve heard recently that made sense to me. The first is from my friend Laura, who thinks “you should try everything in life twice. Once to try, twice to confirm your original opinion.” The second is from Joe Rogan (o sage of sages): “No one in LA is just living, they’re all doing something. They’re not hanging out, having a good time, living life. It’s always ‘the career, I gotta have a career.’ They’re all freaks with big holes in their souls that they need to fill up with other peoples’ attention.” Which is not so much advice as it is an observation, but it came up on shuffle on my iPod and I listened to it and thought “well, it’s not just LA.”
Last night I peed out the kidney stone that the doctor assured me I didn’t have. It was jagged, crystalline, and the size of a piece of granola. That’s disgusting, but I thought you all deserved to know that I pushed gravel through my urethra and didn’t cry about it. In fact, I saved it for testing. I called my mom and she suggested I mail it to the doctor. “Here.” I’d rather mail it to one of my enemies. Gold-plate it and wear it at parties. Surprise a hippie. Watch out, whoever’s birthday is next. Kidney stone!
There are so many exciting seeds in my pocket right now with TV and music and books and photos and fashion and people and I don’t even know what to do with myself waiting all the time. Waiting to hear back from this person or that person, it gets exhausting. Which is why Prof. Joe Rogan’s words hit me like they did. Maybe I should just continue to live life and have amazing weekends like last weekend. Not shut opportunities out, but not devote all my waking time to being ready for them. Talk is cheap, though. Hold me to it.
When she died all I could think was how “like my body?” is now most inappropriate.
Wednesday, February 7th, 2007
Kathy took this photo. My hair is so long these days. It annoys me and gets in my eyes all the time, but everybody keeps telling me not to cut it, so 4rlz n 4 srsly. I have to cut it eventually, though. On good days it’s good, but on bad days it’s really bad. And I can’t wear hats. You know, there was a summer a few years ago when my hair was less than half a centimeter at its longest.
Should I cut it or not?
Tuesday, February 6th, 2007
About a month ago I set aside my financial reservations and purchased a giant beautiful glass jar of orange blossom honey. I planned on using it sparingly so that it would be full for a long time, since tasting a drop of honey from that big beautiful jar is one of the best things there is to do in life. Kathy and I had a houseguest recently who managed to obliterate my guilty purchase, cup of tea by cup of tea, and now I loathe its sight in the morning.
Last night I started writing words to a song I had in my head. It was going to be a song about my last boyfriend, who I was in love with. Not a mean or bad song, just about being sad afterward. But after about two lines of the first verse I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I scrapped it. I guess this means I don’t care anymore, which is nice.
Remember Justin, the guy I was seeing when I left Ohio and who visited last December? He’s making video things now (I say “things” because… well, I don’t really know what you would call this). Just watch. He’s still a total looker, even if he is out of his god damn mind.
“I heard Brad Walsh is gay and dates yarnbabies.” That’s a text in my phone from the one I like now. Let me maybe try to explain this yarnbaby thing. Anna and I were at Claire’s a long time ago and I bought this $3 chain necklace that had on it a pink and black ghosty thing made out of yarn with a black cape. At the same time I bought two sashes that said something about loving to dance, one pink and one black, and Anna and I were going to wear them out together one night, but somebody stole them. But so, this ghosty thing fell off its chain and I put it in a little pouch on a string that I had in my room, and I wore it a few times. I was really drunk one of those times and started calling it my yarnbaby, which cracked out Anna thought was hilarious. So we’ve called it my yarnbaby since, and when I get fucked up I carry it around and show people. This weekend I got majorly weird and at six in the morning we left it as a comment on everybody’s MySpace and blog, and the next day I got about fifty messages asking me what the fuck I was talking about. It’s my yarnbaby, duh, omg yarnbaby. There really is no secret here. Except maybe that when I pluralize yarnbaby it’s yarnbabys, not yarnbabies. Stoooooop meeeeeee.
I hadn’t seen Shortbus until last week, even though I was supposed to see it several times, I have friends who are in it, and everybody I know who did see it said it was amazing. But I finally watched it in my room, alone, on my iPod under the covers as I was going to sleep. Maybe it was the time of night or the state of mind I was in, but I was so into it. I hadn’t heard much about it and had almost no clue beforehand what the story was, so I was really surprised to see my favorite MuchMusic VJ from way back when having sex on screen (like, for real). I pretty much related to every character in it in some way.
Monday, February 5th, 2007
This weekend was absolutely nuts. It went on forever. I didn’t eat or sleep for 36 hours, and I pretty much spent every waking hour with amazing people. I don’t even know what’s going on with my body anymore. Doctor says pulled muscle and/or stomach virus, but who the hell knows. Mom, don’t worry. If I die, at least I had a happy life, ate good food, fell in love, and met Madonna.
At the NC-17 one year anniversary, DJ Jess spun one of my songs, Anna chewed my yarnbaby (I don’t know) and Hannah and Rachel were out together for the first time since New Year’s.
Then my Friday party got a lot crazier than expected, and everybody ended up on the floor.
People did crazy things with knives,
And we fit seven people into a cab to Ruff Club.
Basically, I had a wonderful weekend. House parties are the new black. And I like someone. Lots more photos here.
Sunday, February 4th, 2007
