obfuscated girl

525,600 minutes

Yes, I saw Rent last week, and yes, I felt stupid for crying like a baby when Angel dies and yes, I was reminded why Everyone Has AIDS! is goddamn hilarious, and yes, it was odd that it contained three-fourths of the original cast members and they're, like, forty, and yes, the word "bohemia" makes me want to stab people's eyes out with a fork, and yes, I actually cringed during some of the songs, and yes, if it took Roger a year to fucking write THAT SONG it's absolutely right that he should be unemployed, but you know what?
I LIKED IT. SO SHUT UP.
Also, there are a bunch of pictures without titles or notations at the photojournal. Make something up; I'm busy.

measured rant

Or, How I Spent My Day, by Me.
So I meant to write to you earlier today, Diary, I really did, but I got tied
up with work, and by "work" I mean "trying and failing to find people
who could actually give me some insight as to how I would secure a
Real Job within Milwaukee County; indeed calling the county and having
them tell me that clerical apps had closed three weeks ago, and upon
failing trying not to freak out and failing at that, and then spending
the entire rest of the afternoon applying to jobs online and freaking
out over AIM to people who probably think I am crazy and at the very
least neurotic."
And now I am at the library. And it is raining. And despite what W.
Axl Rose says, it seems that the cold November rain is actually
lasting forever. And I want to go home, but I fear that I may melt. Or
freeze. or something.
the end.

hee hee hee hee hee hee hee

couldn't you take the second bus home? couldn't you just take me with you?

New pictures @ the photojournal.
Back to watching The Boondocks now.

earplugs: not underrated

Last night was the "secret" Promise Ring reunion show (blurry amateur pictures coming soon), described on the show listing behind the bar thusly:
MARITIME
NOTHING FEELS GOOD (Not Even The Promise Ring)
Hee.
Emily drove up to see it, and because MapQuest failed to report or take into account the vast and ridiculous amounts of construction that are going on around here, she was an hour late or something and I emphatically did NOT rant about how she was the only person in the entire goddamn room who actually deserved to see the show, fantasize about stabbing people up in the front, pace, tell the entire bar staff my story (we were going to try to pay her way in to make sure she got in but while a person on the phone told me that was okay two nights ago, it was not) or commit fake acts of violence towards anyone ever.*
But she got in, and everything was fine--nay, it was beautiful. I am of the opinion that despite the fact the members of the Promise Ring have moved on with their lives to varying degrees, their breakup was perhaps the worst idea ever. This is for entirely selfish reasons. All the bands that I loved when I was nineteen are gone, all the bands that had the ability to make me smile until it hurt and dance until my feet were screaming--all the bands who shaped my entirely snotty musical worldview are either defunct or splintered. I want to feel like I'm nineteen again, I want to forget the bulk of everything that's happened since then, I want to be one of those girls who cares about shows and records and nothing nothing nothing else.
And my ear won't stop ringing.
Let this be a lesson, childrens.

*entirely made up of vicious lies

who let these hoes in my room?

Okay, I don't actually have anything to say. Once again, though, I think I should be offended, but I seriously can't stop laughing. When I'm not busy being grossed out.

dear steve martin:

I am cute/vulnerable, I have never had a dress fitted for me, and I have never been to New York City. Would you like to pay off my student loans?
This makes it twice that I have called myself cute in print in the past 48 hours, and also two pretty fantastic films that I've seen in the past 48 hours, one of which I saw alone at a matinee showing. So basically what that says about me is that I am making Great And Fervent Strides w/r/t my self-esteem, but there is no one here to see it.
I have come to the conclusion that Steve Martin is my Old Guy Crush. I actually arrived at this conclusion a very long time ago, but now I realized that it's tinged with hatred and envy. NO ONE should be allowed to be THAT GOOD at EVERYTHING THEY DO. Which includes, God help me, the banjo.
This is the first weekend that I've spent in a long time not feeling completely lost. Like I have friends and they like me and I like them and it's all a big like-fest and things just keep slowly inching their way towards better, whatever that is. I have also come to the conclusion, for real this time, that the fish could outlive the nuclear holocaust, and will outlive me and my nomexistent future children.
I would also like to say that I wonder sometimes at people who post their addresses and phone numbers on their livejournals (yes it could be blogger, it could be typepad, but somehow livejournal communicates this certain...disdain that I am going for here. With exceptions). Sometimes I fantasize (obvs. not in THAT way) about showing up at these peoples' place and be like "Hi, I read your journal at work when I'm bored, do you have any Doritos?" It seems kind of...unwise.
There are a few new pictures at the photojournal.
In conclusion, here is the obligatory Love For Serenity Part 802:
click
Yay.

welcome to the suck

Six (?) hours of sleep, Jarhead last night, no food in my house and an increasing need for food and coffee...
least I'm cute:

bolster your own self-image/waste time completely here

if i could update the links part 2

I would link to this, as it is the journal of Elyse from the first cycle of America's Next Top Model and I just found it today and am all proud of myself. But girl can write and shit. And take hilarious cultural differences pictures:

now that it's over

I've decided that the only age at which people really enjoy holidays (exceptions: Thanksgiving, New Year's Eve) is approximately nine.
I've also decided that I would really do well to get over myself most of the time.
The best thing about this weekend was that I heard the Dirtiest Joke That Eef Barzelay Knows, one which I cannot repeat here because it's really, really dirty. It involves gay dogs. The worst part, I think, beyond the lack of sleep, was daylight savings time. It was dark by the time I caught my bus after work last night. Eff this shit. Also, the concept of Rocktober is officially played, yo:
one
two
three
In other news, I heart my hair, my coworker had a gigantic fit yesterday because the gigantic American flag she had hanging from the ceiling was deemed a fire hazard and she is Clearly Being Oppressed (this came shortly after the conversation with another coworker wherein they deemed all of America's ills at the moment come from kids not being able to say the Lord's Prayer in public schools), there there may be a tiny bit of hope for this Alito cat, I want this movie to be out RIGHT NOW, and apparently Kaballahists don't believe in deodorant.
I really, really, want to get out of this goddamn place.