Late Night Cable Be Damned!

I swear I loath and love that ten minute afterglow after watching any film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, (this morning's being the most recent adaptation.) I hate the brief childish belief in love and storybook romance, but it is in no way beneath me to giggle and squeal throughout the whole thing. It's just like reading the books... you come away wanting swans in your lake, blossoms in your trees, and a mrs. in front of your new last name. Oh, let's not forget the happily ever after as well!

Ugh, I'm making myself sick.

Ah High School!

It is the greatest motivator of B horror films. Some of my fellow arty outcasts and nerds from AV club gathered their talents and created Tamera, a 2005 horror flick about an 'ugly' nerdy chick who's interest in witchcraft helps her come back from the dead after a prank in a remote hotel room goes wrong. This is every girls dream. To show up one morning, (hopefully not after coming back from the dead,) to blow everyone out of the water with "bangin'" looks and a smart comment for the mean assholes... and yet:
Some annoying clichés that need attention:

All popular people listen to shitty hip-hop and have no real taste in music.
I would like to think that even a real asshole likes something beyond generic one hit wonder hip-hop tracks. I won't go so far as to say they are Mozart scholars, but maybe a little Radiohead or something...

All sports related activities in high school breed asshole bullies.
Everyone has met a prick that became full of himself through other means - not just from being great at sports.

Virgins are nice. Popular girls are sluts.
I've found that it is possible to be quite the opposite. Virgins can be quite cranky for obvious reasons. To be popular I think can also mean that you've never gotten any. Look at the movie Saved! Many Moore and her crew made it quite obvious that they were saving themselves and they were the pissiest chicks in that movie.

English teachers are hot and sensitive.
In the second grade the teaching assistant in my class was hit on by all the single moms. His name rhymed with handsome which wasn't lost on these women. Being only six I wasn't old enough to appreciate this. When I grew older I've never had a hot teacher. Ever. I feel ripped off.

The whole, 'she was ugly - now check out that bod trick,' is getting old.
It would be nice to have a normal looking girl remain normal looking. Not severely ugly to smokin' hot. Not super unfortunate to the pinnacle of success. Just normal... to normal. I can see the benefit symbolically, yet I can't appreciate the underlying message of hotness equals acceptance. It feels good in theory but it's actually quite lame...

That Special Time of Year.

One of the true tests of faith is the willingness to forgive. This is something that I have struggled with more than anything else this year and yet it seems as if I will continue to battle the rage and discomfort brought on by the month of January 2006 for a little bit longer.

I have never made whole hearted resolutions for the new year before. I think it has something to do with the fact that it's bullshit to treat the Roman Calendar's first day as an excuse to change. I will however make an exception this year. This year, I'm going to make a better effort to forgive. I want to forgive all the little things and the big things caused by others and myself. Maybe then the anger and aggressiveness will begin to pass.

The mission behind this electronic log was never to share my thoughts with the world, (ironic right?) - rather to just throw words out into space so that they didn't rot inside of my mind and heart anymore. Now that I'm comfortable with this reckless form of expression I need to become more constructive and start to fix things.

Pittsburgh Photo Essay.

This was done a couple months ago. Many Kudos and Much Credit.

My apartment bathroom.
Fifth and Craig.

Mellon Institute elevator.

Lecture auditorium.

In front.

After an Early Sundown.

I woke up in bed at four in the afternoon today and decided to stay there until close to eight. I must say vacations are wonderful because I really don't feel guilty about this. Honestly the biggest highlight of my day was going to Barnes and Noble to buy another collection of crossword puzzles.

After parking the car I got out to realize I didn't even think of bringing a jacket and secretly thanked global warming for the cool night.

Looking across the lot I noticed that the only people that frequent strip malls at this hour are highschool aged assholes with the inability to get alcohol during their Christmas break. I don't think that I will ever understand what makes people my age and younger feel deviant inside of a bookstore chain. They play Sarah Fucking McGlocklin over the sent of preppy coffee for Christ's sake - there's nothing 'bad ass' about that.

I peered around the usual corners in the store, (new paperback release then on to language reference, turn back and glance at fiction, pass through periodicals and debate for five minutes in games.) After choosing my book I moved through the maze of tables in the cafe and got in line. I took one look behind the counter and decided that coffee would only be a cup of lukewarm disappointment and mentally decided on an americano. It was then I noticed that one of the women in front of me was packing a handgun on her hip. It brought me back to my research about handguns in my attempt to obtain a license for my own. I started to feel as if i looked like I was making a big deal about seeing a woman with a handgun and became frustrated at my possible obviousness - I just was really excited but refrained from bugging this poor woman with questions.

I need to pause now and rant just a little about the employees and customers of Barnes and Noble Cafe. First off, I'm tired of people complaining or not being able to drop the idea that it's not a Starbucks. I believe that B&N really shot themselves in the foot with this one seeing as no matter what state I'm in people always bitch when they find out they can't use their gift cards there, or they don't understand how it isn't a fucking Starbucks. As for the folks on the other side of the counter, part of me feels for them, (after even a week in food service anyone would,) but they are always inept in some way. Maybe I just have a short fuse, but if something is on your menu - if you offer certain options - then don't give me that fucking look when I order a double tall soy vanilla latte or whatever drink item I'm willing to purchase. I've even had a woman roll her eyes at me and I swear I wanted to inject some snarky tone into the moment but no - instead I throw a joke in the tense air as my weakness for the reaction formation defense mechanism calls for.

Anyway.

My intention to go to places like this bookstore cafe is to just get out of the house and really just be alone. I must say though there is something about being alone in public that makes you feel more comfortably isolated than being at home. I sat for an hour and a half working on the first puzzle in my new book and listening to different cell phone rings pierce the bland store soundtrack. It never fails to surprise me when the older gentleman's phone goes off with a very loud cut of a crappy pop tune.

I wasn't really to go home, mainly because I never get use of the Tahoe so I drove to another shopping center close to my house. I don't like AJ Gator's in the least, and I also don't like walking in and immediately laying eyes on someone I know from school. I shuffled to the bar and ordered a Diet Coke hoping that this girl at the end of the bar would continue to focus on her obscenely large portion of nachos and her very preppy looking group of friends and not try to remember who I was.

Since diet Pepsi is not the same as diet Coke I went with a Red Bull and sat there working more on the crossword puzzle and hoping that no one would notice I hadn't come home yet.

By the time I'd left, I found myself actually worried that there was a cop in the parking lot waiting for someone to walk out to their car and ran scenario after scenario through my mind of getting pulled over - after not having a single drop of alcohol.

And so went the night.

One for the Books.

This ability to not get the slightest bit of rest is obnoxious. I won't go into the details of my sleep patterns but let's just say before tonight I hadn't the slightest clue as to the plot of the HBO series Entourage and now I'm more caught up then I should be.
I didn't feel like staying in this evening but I really didn't want to go out. The truth is I couldn't think of anyone I wanted to spend the holiday with - so I spent it by myself. I hate the bullshit of watching the ball drop in New York City, (it's not exciting, I think about the poor idiots freezing in the cold, and I'm not a fan of NYC.) Instead, I was up in my room playing solitaire on my pocketPC and barely noticed the passing of the hour. From 23:58 all of a sudden it's 4:46 and I don't feel like I missed out. I guess my ambivilance is what keeps me from closing my eyes and drifting off as well. It doesn't matter whether I'm awake or asleep.
I will say it was nice to get a few text messages from people. It's nice to think that in some random bar or house party someone will think beyond the cheap box wine and shitty music to connect.

I'm not making any real points here this evening. I feel that my more enlightened moments come to my when I'm far from my computer so I'll wrap this up and hope that sleep will visit soon before I start making breakfast and going on a Starbucks run.

avon calling.

i'm sitting at three in the morning watching edward scissorhands on dvd and thinking about why i am up this late. you would have thought the beer, crown and ginger, modified car bomb, and the crown royal from a flask chased with cheap scotch would have done me in. instead it has simply effected my ability to spell.

tonight made me realize that i can never just be happy in either virginia or pittsburgh. i have more friends here, but i am so far removed from their lives the short time i spend here doesn't count for much. in pittsburgh i lack the friends but there is much more to do and see and in all honesty i've had more club oriented fun - all be it alone.

i need to start the "more cool people in the 'burgh" campaign.

When Night Gets Light.

I'm still up sitting in old yoga pants and t-shirt gumming on my clear plastic mouth guard hoping that Ashton Kutcher will finally hook up with Amanda Pete so there might be closure brought to some part of my life. It's true that I have spent the first half week of my vacation attempting to rival my mother's pre-paid Fresh Market stuffed turkey in weight and gummy complexion, but with the illness of the past two months weighing down on my motivation, I can't think of anything else that makes me happier than a 5am airing of Disney's live action classic, 'Sky High.'

On a happier note, I bought one of these today:



Like several before me I spent several hours typing in my tasks, contacts, personal information, and finally appointments with the dainty stylist. My hands grew sweaty around the pricy hunk of metal as I realized after putting in my schedule for the next semester I was still a little empty inside about the fact that I had no appointments until the 4th of January. I started to wonder about the folks that buy these devices in order to complicate their lives further by creating appointments for each day - over tasking themselves into oblivion. It was then I understood that I was thinking about all of this far too much and decided to cook three eggs and watch Donnie Darko for the 45th time.

I Hate New York City.

I gave it a chance. I've been twice, no three times!

Summer 2003: My graduation present was a one week trip with my family. The first day I saw a homeless man
defecate in the subway. I asked myself, 'Welcome to New York?' By the end of the week I just wanted to get out of there - I was choking on the city.

Summer 2004: Probably the most fun I had in the city. I stayed with my then roommate and former friend for a week and liked it alright - I gave it a real chance and I believe looking back it was fun because of the people I got to spend it with not because I did anything spectacular.

Winter 2006: JFK airport. People crowd the terminal like clothed animals grunting and growling - clawing and groping through security and then on to the different terminals. Everyone puts so much effort into connecting with others via their cell phones and ipods that they cannot conceive of giving a shit about anyone around them. Chatting with someone, asking questions, cracking a polite joke - all seen as trivial and dumb to the high and mighty NYers.

I never want to ever even have another layover in that God forsaken land. it just proves that when people are squeezed into a space that has them breathing down each other's necks ... I don't know, it's Lord of the Flies or something.

Some Girls Like June.

All that they really want is to go out and enjoy the time that they spend with friends instead of being crammed in cars with strangers praying not to get caught at sober check points on the bridges from the South Side. I get very annoyed when I'm standing at the bar with a friend that won't stop trying to touch my back or 'take care of me' whilst amongst the drunks. That's not a friend, it's someone to watch out for - because if you get too drunk you're going to get taken advantage of.

Can you answer me a question? Why can't a girl get that one guy she wants? Instead, it's the guy friend that won't stop making hideous passes at her. When ever the end of the night comes, and I settle into my apartment alone I'm not thinking about anything other than the fact that I love being alone. After being driven or walked home I cannot wait to shed the escort and then my smoke soaked clothes to be enveloped by internet radio and Velux blankets. The next step is shutting out those thoughts of annoyance and bring on the fantasy of the impossible in order to fall asleep.

I was invited to a party in the old apartment that I lived in. My former roommate was down the hall - who knows if she was sitting inside or out with me ex. I can't help but want to dig up the hatchet and split the old door into pieces that splintered across the room. (Even after a year of not seeing either of them I'm still attempting to suppress the feelings of hurt that manifest into rage.)

The moral of the story is that there is no moral. There is no reason behind how I feel right now because there are too many thoughts actually going through my head.