Lady Madonna
31.7.09
27.7.09
intervention
Trichotillomania: impulsive pulling of one's own hair.
my mother loves watching shows about people struggling with compulsive disorders. I think it's something that should probably not be broadcast on national television. I wonder if she knows her daughter could be on one of these shows.
Bethelastism: impulsive mental displacement.
rarely am i mentally in my physical surroundings. Usually I'm in france or italy, a fitzgerald novel or a goddard movie. it's much more satisfying.
23.7.09
aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh. etc.
the internet scares me so. I recently made a purchase, and a return, and have recieved no money back. it saddens me. I've bought a little gifty gift for my beloved, on a hope and a prayer that I shant be let down. now i've ordered a pretty little thing for myself, and will surely be devastated if it doesn't work.
I think my identity will get stolen. I hope it's not by someone lame.
I think my identity will get stolen. I hope it's not by someone lame.
17.7.09
11.7.09
True Life: I am living The Wasteland
I am going to attempt to tell this tale as close as I can recall to actuality. I could never make this stuff up.
A brief prologue will assists in determining my state of being at the time of the incident.
I had invited an acquaintance over from work to watch some Harry Potter movies, as I have tried to convince her to tag along with some other gals who are accompanying me to the new premier. She seemed receptive enough, even excited at the idea of watching some HP. After she texted through the whole movie, i decided the idea of a marathon was out and went to albertson's for some tasty treats. As we drove, I asked her how she had kept under a rock so successfully that she had avoided the HP phenomenon. She simply replied, "I don't read."
"I don't read." "I don't read."
Easy as pie. Now, I admit that I am a bit of a bookworm, and do not expect everyone to spend every waking moment reading as I do, but that is just...just...absurd! It takes something very speicial for one to admit that they do NOT read. that's like saying they can't read. ugh. Well, it is safe to say that our friendship isn't exactly on a the A-train. Stupid, silly girl.
Back to the real story. That is just a foundation. Word for word, here I go.
I walk into the library. I ask for a library card and present the photo identification and proof of address necessary. The librarian (a young man, late teens, early twenties) asks if i want a new one or a renewal.
"No," I say, "a new card." He is confused.
"I need a new card, you have my information. Can a go search for a book while you process?"
"Yeah, that's fine." I proceed to search their ten row fiction section for Ms. Plath's Bell Jar, but unfortunately there is no Plath. No Plath. I doublecheck. Nope. Undeterred, I receed to the F's and pick up Tender is the Night. A read I expect to be fantastic for summer and an early Fitz I haven't yet read. (Might I add it was one of perhaps four Fitzgerald books)
Making my way back to the counter, I inquire about Sylvia, "Do you not have any Sylvia Plath? I know you might not know it off the top of your head, but I didn't see any."
"Umm, I don't know. Maybe it's checked out." Checked out. yeah right.
A woman who looks to be the authority figure in the building walk up in a huff. She doesn't seem to think I have any right bothering her assistant, as I'm dressed in all black (work attire), purple patent docs, and dark red lipstick. I may look like a hooligan, but I do know a thing or two about books. "What are you looking for?"
"Sylvia Plath." No answer, questioning eyes. "The Bell Jar."
"We have a New Releases section, maybe it's there."
I'm not joking. I am NOT joking. This woman's profession is books. She does not know Sylvia Plath wrote the Bell Jar, does not even know who she is. She certianly does not know she put her head in an oven in the sixties and is most likely not in the New Releases.
My only response was that "Sylvia Plath has long been deceased." I took my book and exit. Promptly.
Eliot had nothing on me.
A brief prologue will assists in determining my state of being at the time of the incident.
I had invited an acquaintance over from work to watch some Harry Potter movies, as I have tried to convince her to tag along with some other gals who are accompanying me to the new premier. She seemed receptive enough, even excited at the idea of watching some HP. After she texted through the whole movie, i decided the idea of a marathon was out and went to albertson's for some tasty treats. As we drove, I asked her how she had kept under a rock so successfully that she had avoided the HP phenomenon. She simply replied, "I don't read."
"I don't read." "I don't read."
Easy as pie. Now, I admit that I am a bit of a bookworm, and do not expect everyone to spend every waking moment reading as I do, but that is just...just...absurd! It takes something very speicial for one to admit that they do NOT read. that's like saying they can't read. ugh. Well, it is safe to say that our friendship isn't exactly on a the A-train. Stupid, silly girl.
Back to the real story. That is just a foundation. Word for word, here I go.
I walk into the library. I ask for a library card and present the photo identification and proof of address necessary. The librarian (a young man, late teens, early twenties) asks if i want a new one or a renewal.
"No," I say, "a new card." He is confused.
"I need a new card, you have my information. Can a go search for a book while you process?"
"Yeah, that's fine." I proceed to search their ten row fiction section for Ms. Plath's Bell Jar, but unfortunately there is no Plath. No Plath. I doublecheck. Nope. Undeterred, I receed to the F's and pick up Tender is the Night. A read I expect to be fantastic for summer and an early Fitz I haven't yet read. (Might I add it was one of perhaps four Fitzgerald books)
Making my way back to the counter, I inquire about Sylvia, "Do you not have any Sylvia Plath? I know you might not know it off the top of your head, but I didn't see any."
"Umm, I don't know. Maybe it's checked out." Checked out. yeah right.
A woman who looks to be the authority figure in the building walk up in a huff. She doesn't seem to think I have any right bothering her assistant, as I'm dressed in all black (work attire), purple patent docs, and dark red lipstick. I may look like a hooligan, but I do know a thing or two about books. "What are you looking for?"
"Sylvia Plath." No answer, questioning eyes. "The Bell Jar."
"We have a New Releases section, maybe it's there."
I'm not joking. I am NOT joking. This woman's profession is books. She does not know Sylvia Plath wrote the Bell Jar, does not even know who she is. She certianly does not know she put her head in an oven in the sixties and is most likely not in the New Releases.
My only response was that "Sylvia Plath has long been deceased." I took my book and exit. Promptly.
Eliot had nothing on me.
10.7.09
9.7.09
to do to morrow
- get library card. second attempt
- adjust price for sheets, button down shirt
- find harry potter glasses
- find some red lipstick
what's a girl to do
when one has four pairs of underwear left, one must do the laundry.
I ordered two dresses online from the same company. The medium fits, the large is too small.
They are not doing a thing for my self-image.
I have to make a wand before the fourteenth. Or maybe I'll skip the wand and find some glasses. I am the only one dressing up for the premier in this town, and I do not care.
I told my mother not to bring pizza home for dinner in an effort to eat better, lose weight, etc. I'm proud, but then again, the large dress is far too small. harumph.
I ordered two dresses online from the same company. The medium fits, the large is too small.
They are not doing a thing for my self-image.
I have to make a wand before the fourteenth. Or maybe I'll skip the wand and find some glasses. I am the only one dressing up for the premier in this town, and I do not care.
I told my mother not to bring pizza home for dinner in an effort to eat better, lose weight, etc. I'm proud, but then again, the large dress is far too small. harumph.
7.7.09
cloudy gal
the sun has a different shine when it's coming from behind the clouds. it's less yellow. Clearer. I like it much better.
4.7.09
heh heh heh
http://www.cracked.com/blog/storyboards-from-michael-bays-the-great-gatsby/
giggle gaggle
2.7.09
I am very very sad this morning. there's a tightness in my chest and my eyes are hooded not from sleeplessness but listlessness and sorrow. i am having great trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that I have found the person i want to be with the rest of my life and was yesterday forced to get on not one but two planes flying in the opposite direction of him. I needed a paper bag in which to breathe. not for the fear of flying, but for the fact that my body made itself panic because it knew that I was walking in the wrong direction. that I can't really live well without him. or at all. I guess it's good to know that my body will make me sweat, cry, and vomit if I ever do something quite as terrible again. thanks body.
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