obfuscated girl

day five

okay, so there has been some wall-climbing. especially tonight; i went over to amy's for round 2 of the his & her circumstances marathon and she is capable of smoking more than anyone i've ever seen; there were several times that even though i was tempted to throttle her and demand that she give me one, i made it. and she was very good about the whole thing and went outside to smoke. and the fact that my apartment is blessed with thin walls and as i write this i am listening to a nasty-ass smoker's cough that is not mine makes me think that maybe i'm going to be okay after all.
and between the shuttling back and forth between west allis and the east side and keeping up with the bally's and going in for appointments with temp agencies because i don't know what the fuck else to do and am getting scared, i am exhausted and once again not thinking i have anything valid to say. and i have no reason to be exhausted. i'm unemployed.
it just doesn't make any sense.

soundtrack: nothing (need to hear myself think right now)
(out.)

day five

okay, so there has been some wall-climbing. especially tonight; i went over to amy's for round 2 of the his & her circumstances marathon and she is capable of smoking more than anyone i've ever seen; there were several times that even though i was tempted to throttle her and demand that she give me one, i made it. and she was very good about the whole thing and went outside to smoke. and the fact that my apartment is blessed with thin walls and as i write this i am listening to a nasty-ass smoker's cough that is not mine makes me think that maybe i'm going to be okay after all.
and between the shuttling back and forth between west allis and the east side and keeping up with the bally's and going in for appointments with temp agencies because i don't know what the fuck else to do and am getting scared, i am exhausted and once again not thinking i have anything valid to say. and i have no reason to be exhausted. i'm unemployed.
it just doesn't make any sense.

soundtrack: nothing (need to hear myself think right now)
(out.)

cryptic, part 2

the only thing that i have to report is that i am halfway through day three of the no smoking project--errr, the no smoking rest-of-my-life. (that may be a trifle optimistic.)
and i'm not climbing up the walls.
praise me. now, please.

soundtrack: atmosphere, "don't ever fucking question that."
(out.)

cryptic

the thing about slowly emerging from this type of sick is that i am tired all the time. and i really, really just wanna go lie down. but i have to fix my apartment so my sister doesn't reveal the awful truth to the rest of my family that i live like a slovenly barmaid/wench/mole, cause she's coming for death cab for cutie tonight. and i just don't want to do anything at alllllllll.
i will confine my musings to that.
also, there was a message left on my machine about my resume from a (as far as i know) legitimate place of employment.
!!!!!!
i won't be speaking to the woman who left it again until monday, so i have approximately 72 hours in which to hope and wonder (and hope and hope and hope and hope...).
i'm still very skittish after the last time.
wish me luck, y'all.
merry weekend.

soundtrack: the liars, "mr your on fire mr"
(out.)

quit if you're through with it, you are gonna make me sick

apologies for the MIA-ness. as predicted the throat tickle exploded, and i was sicker than i have been for a long time. all week. still am. this is fever and cold spells, coughing for an hour at a time, having an appetite so diminished that the only thing my stomach will accept is vegetarian boullion and saltines, fuck-you-we're-taking-you-over sick. have also made a friend sick and i fear for matthew very, very much. this brings me to Thing One of Two that will be discussed today:
i am quitting smoking. tomorrow is d-day. i have tried to do this several times before but i think my heart wasn't really in it; there is a certain part of every smoker who is in love with the ennui and the whole self-destruct aspect of it all. i would be lying if i said i have suddenly started hating smoking. this is not going to be easy, but the reality is that it is going to kill me if i don't. i am tired of getting the same illnesses every two months. i am tired of being worried about my breath all of the time. i am tired of my nonsmoker friends making faces and waving smoke away if i am out at a bar with them or something. most of all, i am tired of being a statistic. women my age are the most likely to be aware of the hazards of smoking yet the least likely to quit. that's fucked up, y'all. for anyone who reads this and knows me in real life, donations to the carrot sticks/chewing gum/pencil/nicorette (we'll see if the last one's necessary, but i'm not above it) fund will be graciously accepted.

even more alarming, i bring you Thing Two of Two:

the bush administration has ruled that federal employees will now have no means to fight back if they are fired or demoted for being gay. and the white house is removing gay rights information for employees from all government webpages.
go here, please.
i really don't know what to say about this. i am not very good at being eloquent about things that make me this angry. and somehow just saying "i'm going to move to fucking canada" seems really trite. how did the world get to be like this?

soundtrack: modest mouse, the moon & antarctica

(out)

i'm glad that you came, i needed someone to look up to

you know, fuck these three dollar juice smoothie things that allegedly have echinacea. fuck 'em. they're not doing anything for me right now, and i'm petrified to exert any effort on anything because there is a telltale you-have-been-out-too-much-this-week-and-now-you-are-going-to-pay-dearly tickle thing at the back of my throat. i have this (perhaps) misguided notion that if i go back to sleep or otherwise wait it out it will go away. of course, cigarettes contain vitamin c, so i should smoke much much more and that will help.
argh.
the rhetorical question of the day is: why blog?
this is a question that has been nibbling at the back of my mind for several weeks now--i know that i have alluded several times to wanting more hits and whatnot and wanting Fame Power and Glory, but seriously, i just went back over those entries and since when do i talk like that? i do not. the power of the internet is very strange. this think can't even be defined as a subculture anymore (i don't actually know if it ever was) but it's HUGE. do i really think that someone is going to happen across this, pluck me out of obscurity, and praise my exemplary and awe-inspiring writing skills? i do not. but i think partly i do, and i wonder about that as well. i am what you would call a secret exhibitionist, and i am wondering if maybe the entire world is made up of them. what makes us think we are all so special and fascinating that we need to publicize our every move and thought? why bother? i know that there are sites that i am drawn to and read very frequently, and i think that it has something to do with getting out of my own head. but the sites that i do read regularly are so well written that it makes me want to hide my head in the sand and then go get a job as a subway sandwich artist rather than ever attempt anything that good.
and i am afraid i do not have any answers to these questions. if there is someone out there who does, i would appreciate hearing from you. if you write a blog, why? if you are reading this one and have done so more than once, what the fuck is wrong with you?
i mean, why?

soundtrack: broadcast, "city in progress"
(out.)

you're smothering me

so it's almost spring. how about them apples. i got extremely (checking euphemism dictionary)...happy on red bull and vodka last night; not because it was saint patrick's day, mind you, but because i decided i desperately needed a change in my routine. the only thing that i see worthwhile about that holiday is mocking all the people with green things on their heads. the other activities of yesterday included watching three hours or so of an anime series called his and her circumstances with my friend amy, whom i had heretofore understood to be a completely cynical human being. also her dog chewed the foam pieces off my walkman headphones, which was pleasant. but this series? this series. omg, it's the cutest thing ever. omg, i just said omg.
anyway, crime & judy is playing again tomorrow night, and other than that and the extremely disturbing dream i had this morning wherein there was a hairless cat with matthew's voice and a fucked up human looking face in bed with me trying to convince me that he was actually my fish and then trying to hit on me, i have little to report.
when i was on the exercise bike at bally's today the 12:00 news was on and there was footage of the florida man who shot his entire family and then they cut to the latest series of bombings in baghdad, and i was sitting there thinking not only is my world relatively insular and comparatively sheltered, it is also extremely fucking surreal.
i don't think that i like people much right now.

soundtrack: wilco, "cars can't escape"
(out.)

the bet

if there is anything wrong with my relationship, it is that there is a severe reluctance on the part of the person who is not typing this to give me cookies. i don't know how this started but am amused by how long the joke seems to have extended itself. wait, did i say joke? i meant dire circumstance. i will periodically demand cookies--i even threatened to bake them myself yesterday while he was out, instead drinking an entire bottle of wine and making a pure ass out of myself (but that story is not for you). so he has bet me that if i can go for three years without crying over anything with the exception of films, then and only then i will get a cookie. as of noon today i was halfway through day 1,095. then i went through the latest pile of online job applications and got a rejection notice from one of them TWO MINUTES AFTER I APPLIED. how does this happen? how do they do that? and i was close to tears. i admit it. matthew, i fail. i have said this before and i will say it again: i am terrified that none of this is going to lead anywhere. i feel like i'm wasting my time. i am terrified of what happens next.
other than the story that is not for you and the fact that as a result of it my wrist inexplicably hurts a lot, this weekend was good. filled with a lot of movies and a lot of alone time. which was not so good. i think that my heart is hungover. i feel like any sense of optimism i had left has been crushed beneath an eighteen wheeler.
i don't know what i'm doing anymore.

another prop has occupied my time

so it is bright and shiny outside. what am i doing inside writing this? my lunch date was cancelled, and so i have been sitting here for a half hour while my ass goes numb writing followup emails to the places my resume has been sent so far and envisioning what will happen when my unemployment runs out and i have to move to west allis and become an angry unemployed quasi-housewife. yeah. (just kidding, baby.)
we are through season 2 of the sopranos and it's all i can do to stop the flood of memories that are coming back about what happened in the third season the last time i made a hobby of watching them, and furthermore stop myself from vocalizing them, for fear i will get whacked and sleep with the fishes. and oh: my suckerfish is dead, speaking of fishes. he has become a homicide victim. oliver, the last remaining fish, has been persecuting him ever since he arrived in the tank, and when i went to feed them yesterday morning the suckerfish was naught but a tiny set of fish bones that had been virtually picked clean. i was very upset, especially since this now means i either have to start cleaning the tank myself or get a suckerfish who can defend himself. suckerfish: with a vengeance.

there is so much that i could be doing. there is so much that i need to do. there is so much motivation that i absolutely lack.
so from the depths of stagnant irrelevance,
i sign myself
(out.)

(soundtrack: dismemberment plan, "the city")

all my dreams have fallen flat

hello. i'm back.
the walkmen show was fantastic, despite or perhaps because of the fact that we saw the lead singer totally blow off this girl that i remember seeing at every other show i've been to by running away from her as soon as she went to the bathroom. and the opening band, the french kicks, covered "mad world," tears for fears style...and the walkmen fucked up the intro to "wake up" and then mumbled something apologetic and frankly adorable about how they blow out an amp or something every time they're in milwaukee...and they played an Actual Encore...and i generally had a good time and was up until three. which led to exhaustion upon rising at 7:00 the next morning and not being able to get back to sleep, but i'll get to that. you suck for not being there.
and i suppose i suck or something for not showing up to the aforementioned illegitimate baby mamma party; i was wavering and indecisive up until an hour before we should have left for it and i finally looked at matthew and yelled "you! make the decision for me! be a man! decide things!" and he sighed and grumbled that it wasn't his decision to make, and it really wasn't, but he decided. and we did not go. and i think in the end that it was much better that way.
the lack of sleep combined with the new Punishing Workout that i now intend to put myself through five days a week turned me into a flesh-eating zombie yesterday (without the actual flesh-eating part). afterwards it was a bunch of running errands half-asleep and feeling lonely and Very Sorry For Myself Indeed, as not being around people has begun to make me feel like a ghost. helpfully, my rockstar friend showed up unannounced last night just as i was really getting on a streak with the self-pity thing and we made a ghetto fabulous dinner at her house, and then i passed out from the sulfites in the red wine and the exhaustion.
and this morning i found myself sobbing over a news story about this kid with cerebral palsy who has become a cross country runner and in this one race all of his teammates came back out after they'd finished and ran the last mile with him; completely surrounding him. i.need.to.stop.crying.at.random.shit.
i feel the need to apologize for the minutiae this entry has covered. see, i'm even boring you.
two new obsessions: waiting for my literary guilty pleasure, the gossip girl series, to come out with its fifth book, i like it like that...it won't be out until may. fucking hell. yes, i read the princess diaries, too, wanna fight?
and this here:
televisionwithoutpity.com

soundtrack: omd, "if you leave"
(fully milking the lack of serotonin)

(out.)

styles upon styles upon styles is what i have

today got off to a kind of rocky start. upon coming home and practicing my organization method of dump-everything-on-the-floor i learned that my cd walkman cannot, in fact, survive being walked over by doc martens. neither could my copy of slanted & enchanted despite the fact that stephen malkmus is my superhero. argh. and because i am still in this pissed-off-for-being-so-dependent-on-material-goods mode, for which i entirely blame chuck palahniuk, i am halfway annoyed that i literally went straight out of the house to buy a replacement at the godsend/enabler 24-hour walgreens. but when you take the bus as much as i do, a walkman is damn near equivalent to breathing. (there is a segment of a personality test that claims that if you often wear a walkman/sing along to yourself, it speaks to the fact that you're introverted. fuck that, i just hate you.)
but it's a really good walkman...
and today marks nine months for matthew & i. nine months of being exhilarated and amazed and amused and loved and excited and occasionally worried and safe and stimulated and feeling like no matter what comes next everything is going to be okay, because he is always going to be there.
and baby, if you're reading this, you know that i will too. but i'm saying it again.

soundtrack: a tribe called quest, the low end theory
(out.)

you are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. you are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the wor

okay, so i have spent some of my refund. i bought a new spring coat. it makes me look like audrey hepburn, i swear. (snort.) and my 5,000,000th black t-shirt. and i am officially the gap's bitch. and i am running out of things to say because i am running on about 5 hours of sleep. and the coffee is doing nothing. and i want to go back to sleep but it is ten in the morning and it's hard enough for me to reconcile myself with the fact that i don't leave matthew's until around now when i stay at his place--i feel like a sloth with much less fur and without the hanging upside down part. i was reminded last night of what a fantastic film fight club is. (the second thing that it reminded me of was the irony of the fact that had bought a coat not hours earlier that i love, not because it is from the gap, but because i just like the way i look in it. for anyone who knows me, me liking myself in anything is incredibly rare. if i were truly enlightened, though, i would go around in the same clothes for weeks on end and convert the energy that i would have spent finding the coat in the first place into saving the world. bad consumer. bad!) i was also reminded why it is a good idea to eat at regular intervals throughout the day and why deep fried food items and i generally do not get along.
so things are pretty quiet. if they were quieter, though, i would be able to go back to sleep.

and this is How You Know That You Have A Problem With A Certain Television Program, Part One (of probably many):

when your boyfriend kisses you goodbye in the morning and adds "enjoy the o.c. tonight."

oh fuck.

soundtrack: kind of like spitting, "blue period"

(out.)

it's just that when you touch me i cannot stand up

i would like to announce that i have had my federal refund check in my savings account for 4 hours now and i have NOT SPENT ANY OF IT (except for paying my stupid library fine so i could use this computer and get the books i have on hold--they had better be worth it) YET. i'm like fucking alan greenspan over here. and granted, the stores i went into with the quasi-intention of buying girly clothing for the sheer frivolity of it charged $38 for a fucking t-shirt, but that's beside the point. right?
so the sky is in a state of strangeness right now--light and rain and the ability to see my breath all at once--and the atmosphere inside the library is that of rarefied squalling children. i'm a little on edge.
two letters recieved from prospective places of employment, one telling me they went with someone else and one saying they are Carefully Considering My Resume Blah Blah Blah. nothing new. and so i really have little to report, except that i had nightmares last night about the woman who played tony soprano's mother. this weekend was good, albeit slightly muddy. also the handclap project (tm) turned out fantastically, and i would go into detail but i fear that my sister might actually look at this here thing occasionally.
i also have to make a decision whether or not to attend a party this weekend for the Bastard Child Of The Ex-Boyfriend Who Knocked Up My Ex-Best Friend And Is Therefore An Idiot. a lot of people who i know and love are going to be there and it's being thrown by a lady who understands completely if i do not show up. but the way i feel about the two (impregnator and impregnate-ee) of them currently is subject to question. part of me thinks that that whole drama (and it was the drama-iest drama that ever drama-ed) was such a long time ago that it shouldn't matter whether or not i show up and i will be a Much Better Person If I Can Put All Of This Behind Me And Act Like A Reasonable Human Being. another, much smaller part still wants to smash their faces into fucking hamburger, to paraphrase mr. soprano or the writers who gave him that dialogue. the rest of me realizes that i still have a lot of thinking to do.
i mean, what would you do?

quote of the day, non-say anything related:

"i was going for stealth... and it's slimming."-seth cohen, the o.c.

soundtrack: sleater-kinney, "turn it on"
(out.)