obfuscated girl

she makes me wanna die

I am writing this with imprints of gravel on my hands from when I tripped in a vacant lot on North Avenue. I keep thinking about the implications of this, about how clumsy I feel and am, about how many times I've fallen and stumbled and scarred myself and whether or not I'm perhaps making too big of a deal out of this and mountains out of molehills and etc. But my clumsiness is a key to something. Accident-prone is a metaphor. For something.
I saw a guy last night who kissed one of my guy friends once to make his girlfriend at the time jealous. This is the latest in a series of things I don't remember, it was a big deal at the time in our Insular Collegiate World Of Dramatics and when I was talking to this guy I absolutely could not place his face. and that worries me in a way, because it's just confirming that the memories I have of MY OWN LIFE are so filled with holes that it's like I blacked out or somethiing. I have learned from this book that if one is female and one drinks four drinks in a night twice in two weeks one is a binge drinker. I also learned (or decided) that I could probably write a better memoir than that girl and am back to wondering why the fuck I'm not doing that. Or something. Something else; something bigger. I'm out of my shell, I'm so ready for the world, but the world is paying attention to other things.
But things are not as bad as they seem. As much as winter is still trying to hold spring's head under the water and drown it, spring is still alive. The Secret Project that I referred to once before is go, and I am so, so excited. I wasn't so much upset about the Bush press conference eclipsingThe O.C., by the way, as I was by the realization that I cannot listen to that man talk. At all. I wanted to know what the fuck he was talking about, but I seriously would flip to Fox and listen to him say A SENTENCE and then change the channel in disgust.
Here is a recent picture from the photojournal to make up for my general bitchiness, because y'all, who does not love Kermie?

this is random, i swear

"I suppose I could riff a list of things that I care as little about as our last week together. Let me see, um...Low-carb diets. Michael Moore. The Republican National Convention. Kabbalah and all Kabbalah-related products. Hi-def TV, the Bush daughters, wireless hot spots, The O.C., the U.N., recycling, getting Punk'd, Danny Gans, the Latin Grammys, the real Grammys. Jeff, that Wiggle who sleeps too darn much! The Yankees payroll, all the red states, all the blue states, every hybrid car, every talk show host! Everything on the planet, everything in the solar system, everything everything everything everything everything everything everything everything everything that exists...past, present and future, in all discovered and undiscovered dimensions. Oh! And Hugh Jackman." -Scrubs

they will spread our ashes round the yard

I am back to having not all that much to say. The days are blending into one another, the sky today fits my mood exactly, I'm still not working, an appointment that I had with a job counselor type person has been pushed back AGAIN, I am relating these days entirely too much to "Fuck And Run" by ms. Liz Phair, I am lost, someone find me, I'm not even having dreams that are worth recounting anymore, etc., etc., etc., emo. And the Death Cab on the OC was effing terrible. THEY LIP-SYNCHED. COHEN WASN'T EVEN THERE. terrible.
Here is a song:
Death Cab For Cutie,"Lovesong"
Oh, but I am going to this tomorrow.
And there are more writerly things on the horizon, details TBD.
And there is a new friendship with someone who was discussed far too much in this forum; there has been a decision that we are going to be Actual For-Real Friends. It is both terrifying and necessary, I think.
that's all, as you were.

sarah is seeking to seeking to fill in the jerusalem area

(Googlism.com) This shit is amazing.
sarah is the music director at the river
sarah is autographed and up for bids on ebay
sarah is one of six young women selected
sarah is an independent
sarah is on the cover of this month's uk elle magazine
sarah is chair of the committee on jobs
sarah is making herself ill by pretending to love her husband
sarah is the same girl with the same
sarah is the alter
sarah is back
sarah is cooler than you fool's ujournal entries
sarah is cooler than you fool's ujournal day
sarah is a revelation
sarah is a coming
sarah is a 6
sarah is google
sarah is mourned youngsters join estate's witch
sarah is alive
sarah is also in the new david cronenberg film existenz
sarah is absent today
sarah is presented in the new testament as a model woman?
sarah is delighted with her latest victory
sarah is quick to deflect the role

dear people who have come across this blog by searching for "girl fuck girl" or information about carlos d,

Please stop. You're embarrassing me.

I am currently entrenched in the ditches of a music war with my neighbor. "Rhiannon"+ various Alicia Keyes versus Firewater. If y'all can't guess which is which you clearly do not know me, or my name (see how clever that was? It was fucking clever). All I'm saying is the enjoyment of ANYTHING can be null, void and destroyed if you hear it eight times in a row, three days a week and mostly Fridays. I have decided to blame my neighbor for any and all future embarrassing scrapes I get myself into on Fridays, because HE IS DRIVING ME TO DRINK (as that is the only thing possible to do when I leave my house).
This has been a strange week, filled with Frodo Baggins eating people, breakdancing, drinking to try and forget the fact that I'm mortal, MySpace lurking/stalking, and too little sleep. AND I AM SERIOUSLY GOING TO MURDER THIS DUDE. FUCKING HELL. AGH.
A song by Temper Temper is going to be featured on The O.C. April 21. Ha, I just typed "April 32." This is awesome but seriously? The idea that Adam Brody, who I am SO OVER, mind you, is theoretically listening to these dudes? (photo from aforementioned MySpace.com) Who have served me coffee? Whom I love? ADAM BRODY, IF YOU TAKE TEMPER TEMPER AWAY FROM US AND GIVE THEM TO, LIKE, HOT TOPIC, YOU ARE GETTING MURDERED TOO.

be warned and shit.

delicate pimp

I am still paying (or whoring myself to my friends) for interweb access. This will have to change soon. The purpose of this writing is to say that there is something Big and Planful in the works with one miss A.Ro, and it takes us back to our booking shows days, and that I am excited as all hell about it, and details will emerge as they are set in place, and I am writing from Node and it smells like weed here and I'm very confused, and new interweb friends are the best things ever ever, and because of some of them I am going to see the Futureheads, OMG, and because I know my audience is HUGE I am now going to inform you that you can buy Riviera's new CD, At The End Of The American Century here,
here or here. And you should, because they are my friends and they are fucking fantastic. As musicians and as friends.
That is all.

photojournal update

There is proof over there that I have been doing shit with my time and not just rocking back and forth and crying because I have no steady interweb access.

it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

and I am on the internets. In CHI. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?
Oh yeah, I had an hour's worth of sleep last night and I wanted that to be documented. Because it was a very, very good time indeed. And I wanted to address the general, ever-dwindling public and say that I am still alive. Without the wireless connection, which is a semi-explanation for why I'm not writing anything.

the end.