This morning, I painted my fingernails bright red. I think I’m taking my life on the wrong path. Hope I veer onto the right one soon. I use the red nail polish as an excuse. Erika always had red nails. Why can’t I? But I haven’t painted my own nails in years because whenever I do, I imagine that my fingers are suffocating. Even when I went through those brown nail polish phases. And people thought I’d painted them black. No, they were clearly brown. People say that about my hair, too. Black-haired girl. I’m so flattered; I wish my hair was naturally darker. No, it is clearly brown. My mom always says she expected to have little girls with very pale skin and very dark hair. And when I was little, I had very olive skin and very dark hair. And now I have moderately pale skin and moderately dark hair. I tell her that when I get older, I’m going to make my hair darker brown. And she asks why, my hair’s so pretty, so shiny. I don’t know. Live up to my own standards of beauty. You know why I’m pale now? We skipped a year at the beach, and after that, I avoided the sun like it was the plague. In the shower, though, today, I was thinking that I wish I was born a different race or a different nationality, or both. I have life so easy! I’m white and American! My parents are alive! I have a house to live in! Food to eat! Choice in the food that I do eat! There’s nothing desperately wrong with me. I can live with extreme social anxiety. It won’t kill me. And it’s not fair that I can live like this and other people can’t. We always look up, why can’t I live like this other person better-off than me? We should look down, why can’t this worse-off person live like me? What can I do to make it so she can live a better life? But we don’t.

So here I am listening to the National every day, sitting on my computer while wishing I’d had the chance to have a Triad reunion back in Richmond. Playing some DBZ video games or doing spontaneous things. Talking. My favourite thing about going to Richmond was being told that my ass/thigh region was smaller than before. Just kidding, that wasn’t the highlight of my trip, but it did make me happy for some odd reason. Lately, I’ve been wondering what it would be like to have a huge ass. Like, fucking huge. But I can’t picture it. I guess I’m just not an ass person. Eyebrows are more my speed. Make or break a person. They do say quite a lot about a person, though, more so than body type or whatever.

Here is what I noticed in Richmond. I am a jerk. Sometimes, I wish I could find someone in real life who genuinely and openly hates me because I find that people are mostly lukewarm about me, or they keep their dislikes on the down-low. I’d totally deserve it. Some things people say about me are actually fucking hilarious because they don’t know me at all. But I wish someone would get to know me and then hate me based on things that are completely true. Maybe it’s because I can’t hate anyone. Maybe it’s because I wish I could give myself a break because I know I’m the one who hates myself the most.

We were reading “Hamlet” in English, and my teacher was trying to get us to empathize with Hamlet. To understand him. You know, Pretend your uncle killed your dad, then hastily married your just-widowed, barely-mourning mother for lust and power, pretend that he wanted your life, maybe because you get in the way of his power, maybe because you’ve got some Oedipus Rex complex and while you’re at it, your girlfriend takes back her love for you and then you kill her father accidentally, which makes her insane, pretend that she commits suicide and her brother wants your life and teams up with your uncle to kill you and then they kill your mom with their scheme. You may or may not have feelings for your mom, but there are hints. That sort of thing. Seriously, though, to be able to get Hamlet’s reaction out of me, you’d have to delve deeper and completely alter my past. First, you’d have to build up my relationship with my father. Then you’d have to take away my capacity for empathy, and that’s just not working. If I was in Hamlet’s situation, I wouldn’t even consider killing anyone. I wouldn’t have time to be angry I’d curl up in a depressed, sad lump of flesh and tears, and then I’d stop eating. So I’m sorry, I don’t really like “Hamlet,” even if Shakespeare had to spice it up because it would be a rather boring time just watching some Prince of Denmark cry on a stage for four hours.

Oh. Friday night, Travis took off his socks. Travis has the unusual quality of having feet that smell like dryer sheets. I don’t think he’s even capable of emitting bad smells at all. Anyway, he has the most magnificent feet I’ve ever seen, save for his weird toenails, which curve with his toes. Hard to describe. This revelation–that Travis has magnificent feet–has sparked in me the desire to improve my own foot hygiene. Take better care of those phalanges. I don’t wear socks. In fact, I hate socks. My own feet are constantly bruised, scarred, FREEZING (ask Derek), and gross-smelling. I had gorgeous heels until band camp before my junior year, when I didn’t wear socks with my sneakers for one day and then I got blisters from running laps there. And they scarred. Speaking of running, I feel the need to start again regularly, but there are two problems. One, I can’t just run. I’m too self-conscious about the way my legs fly out all over the place when I run. People make fun of me and then I have to laugh it off, and sometimes I’m just not in the mood. Two, when I asked my mother if we could join a gym or something (since that’s something she constantly talked about over the summer), she rolled her eyes and made a sound of disapproval. What happened to my moderately-health-conscious mother?! I need seratonin, and I’m not gonna get it sitting on my ass in front of my computer all day, thinking about the past. I need to be productive to be happy.

I’m still getting used to these nails. I think they make my hands look so much more sophisticated than they actually are.

What else? Last night, Derek called spontaneously and told me about these videos he saw with cats being tortured. Depressing material. And I wondered at first why he was telling me, but duh–who else would empathize? It’s a shame that you know, seeing a chicken or a cow or a pig or some foreign animal being tortured is just normal by some people’s standards, almost acceptable, if a little sad, but because it’s distant, it’s okay. But then seeing some household animal, a pet, being tortured, that’s what sparks an interest in animal rights. Save the cats and dogs! How could people eat cats and dogs? I live with cats and dogs. My question to you is how can people eat pigs, chickens, cows, fish? I’m not implying that about Derek. It’s just something I’ve noticed. I am confident that he is as noble as a person can be. What really touched me was that he was afraid of that happening to Little Ding, his cat (who is seriously, I swear, only a cat when he’s sleeping–otherwise, he’s somethin’ else). It’s a strange situation. I run into these videos from time to time and they provide motivation, they provide anger and sadness and some of the strongest emotions I’ve ever felt. Frustration. How could a person do that to an animal? How did that person grow up? What led her to become this way? And how could anyone look into an animal’s eyes and kill him or eat him? How do hunters do it? How can people eat it? I’m still somewhat of a hypocrite for not being vegan, and I’m afraid I’ll always be a hypocrite no matter what by taking what society gives me and living, breathing, buying. But I want to cut down on the damage. These emotions, though, I don’t–I can’t–share them with friends. I shelter them. I’ve seen it so you don’t have to. I’m going to make my point by being vegetarian and you don’t need to ask questions that’ll make us both feel uncomfortable and guilty. Me, I don’t want to make you feel bad, to push my strongest beliefs on you. The ones that make up the essence of my life. But my personal choice is not to live that way.

I have a few songs that you’ve already heard. They’re for you.

Vampire Weekend

Walcott | Vampire Weekend

I’ve been thinking about making a Vampire Weekend bag lately, just because I think it would be insanely cool. This here song makes me want to move my body aimlessly in a room filled with other people moving their bodies aimlessly. We could all be tiny atoms! In a giant room! Together! Just listen to the song, appreciate the voice that’s from another decade, the orchestra, the intensity, the nostalgia. It makes me think of A Separate Peace, something I’ve never experienced, the decade I wish I grew up in, a beautiful mindset I can’t attain. Sophistication. These red fingernails that couldn’t possibly be mine. They must be yours.

Nantes | Beirut

Zach Condon’s voice reminds me of Andrew Bird’s voice in some aspect. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it’s classy and I love it. Being in love, drinking coffee on a sunny late-winter afternoon. Touching someone’s hair. Trying to tickle them. The sun’s coming in the windows, in your eyes. You don’t mind. Everything’s parfait. I guess it could also fit that one time I drove home late at night over the summer in my car and couldn’t stop crying. There was a red light and the person in the next lane over stared at me uncomfortably and I had to calm down on Broad Street. When I got back, I parked in front of the house and had to calm down for a few minutes before I could go in.

Ferraby Lionheart

Small Planet | Ferraby Lionheart

His style reminds me somewhat of Jens Lekman, maybe just in this song, maybe not, but I always like piano/orchestra pop-ish music. You know, unconventional instruments to hear in music with lyrics. Added bonus? Why, yes! Webquest time! Go to his website’s Biography section and just read it. Might I mention that he’s another Silver Laker? Like Rilo Kiley! This song reminds me of the Turkey Trot every year, early in the morning, crunchy leaves, screaming children, and then the fulfilling tiredness that sets in after.

Rufus Wainwright

Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk | Rufus Wainwright

If anyone in the world reminds me of Andrew Bird, it would HAVE to be this man. He may not be a professional whistler or violinist, but his voice is impressive. You hear about Rufus Wainwright all over the place, but it wasn’t until friends mentioned him recently (and referred to him on a first-name basis, “Rufus) that I opened my ears up and started to listen. I’m glad I did. The song is simpler times, like when I used to French braid my American Girl Doll’s hair (Samantha, of course). Tea parties on the front lawn. Summer days when Rachael and I used to take our Barbie dolls out to the pool in the back yard. Sticking Sailor Moon’s hands in the crab apples in the yard. Good times.

Andrew Bird

Measuring Cups | Andrew Bird

What can I say? Andrew Bird owns. He taught Jay how to whistle better, he made me love xylophone, he makes me want to sing. And then I remember that it’s not particularly pretty, me singing. But I sing plainly regardless. His songs motivate me to look things up, references, and I learn things. Maybe not things that are particularly applicable to any regular conversations, like the ancient story behind “Sovay” or love theories from “Imitosis,” but gaddamn. It was love at first listen. Once I heard his voice once, I was thirsty for more. I asked for a CD for Christmas and I remember sitting up on the floor of my old room, just listening for however long on Christmas day and repeating “Sovay” over and over and over again. It was magical. Doors opened. Enlightenment.

20 January, 2008, 946 am
Filed under: Music, My Experience with Existence

You know what’s funnay? A year ago (almost excactly a year ago), I wrote a post about how much I admire Régine Chassagne, and just now, people are finding it and fuckin’ devouring it and reading what they have to say REALLY makes me feel weird. I reread the original post and most of it’s pretty damn sarcastic. Rather gruesome, right? For example, I implied several times that I’m either lesbian or bisexual (which is cool, except for the fact that it would be me blatantly lying) and that I’m just a creeeepy stalker. It’s okay, though. Or I guess it’s not okay; I can be quite the sketchball. And now these people are going to take my MySpace link because they’re wondering, “Who is this?!” And then they’ll read my Music section, where it says, “Fanatical About:” and they’ll think, “DAMN STRAIGHT, SHE’S FANATICAL. GOTTA QUARANTINE THIS ONE.” I took the words out of your mouth. Ahh, not that I mind all too much because I like hearing something different from “the usual” and now I know what not to try and execute. I guess I should try and make my sarcsam more blatant or put a little note at the end of the post saying, “I’m fuckin’ kidding.” Then again, this was a year ago when I was sixteen and I was probably a creep. All the trauma from moving has probably washed some of that off. Probably not all of it, though. Actually, fuck this paragraph. I’m way defensive of my facetiousness. You can tell that I don’t get enough nay-sayers because when I do, I have to write about it in a new post.

N. E. Way. I’m going to lunch at Tropical Smoothie Café aujourd’hui with Jay. Before that I may chill with Derek some. Around 430, I get to see my beloved Divya, and after that, it’s TRIAD TIME. OHMAHGAWD. I’m actually assuming that last part, Triad Time, but I guess I’ll call and set it in stone later. Like, later.

Here’s a Sunday song. :) I don’t normally makes smilies.

Ruining the Sundays | James Figurine

Time for me to take a cold, freezing shower or something because my father’s maison has no hot water currently! YEAH!

20 January, 2008, 105 am
Filed under: My Experience with Existence | Tags: ,

I’m in Richmond near all the people I miss on a daily basis.  And right now, I miss Lewisburg and all the people I see on a daily basis.

Richmond has changed.  I think that being away from it for an extended period of time has made me completely glorify it in my mind.  Raise it up on a pedestal, if you will.  But riding around, seeing everything again for the first time in months, I realize just why I enjoy living in Lewisburg.  Everything here in Richmond’s so commercial.  It’s so developed.  There’s no nature.  You can’t walk anywhere after school, there are no local businesses, and there’s nothing to do.  I mean, I think I could tolerate living in the city city, where everything’s even more impersonal and developed (where you still have your local shops), but not in the suburbs of a large prim and proper town like this.  I like Lewisburg because even if there’s not always something to do, you can walk essentially anywhere, you don’t need a car or license, and everything’s so fucking beautiful.  That’s a treat in itself.  There’s nature everywhere.  You can sit on your front porch and eat a meal during the summer.  Seriously.  I’ve never been able to pull that shit before.

Anyway, my dad has exercise tools here, like a bike machine thang, old school, so I may take advantage.  Even though I’ve lost weight and allegedly look skinnier than I did in November?!

Well, I have no muzakkk for you tonight, but I suppose I’ll get some for whenever I post next.

18 January, 2008, 1249 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Music, My Experience with Existence | Tags:

This day was momentous.  Some reasons, I’ll share and others, I won’t.

The first shareable, portable reason is some occurrence in art class.  I was sewing up my Arcade Fire bag like a BAMF when all of a sudden, I heard this all-too-familiar tinkling of the piano.  The reason it was all too familiar is that it was my favourite song of all time, “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” by the Arcade Fire.  At first, I thought I was officially going insane because it was playing rather boldly in my head this time (as opposed to the other times), and then I realized that someone else in the room acknowledged, “Yeah, Arcade Fire.”  Of course, I almost had a heart attack, and I’m pretty sure I know who put it on.  But as I finished making my Arcade Fire bag, Funeral played on, and it really made me remember and reappreciate the glory that is the Arcade Fire.  Reignited that there fire.  Thus, I had cravings to listen again all day once the album was  over.  It made my day for quite a while.  I love the Arcade Fire.  I love hearing that other people love them.  I love dancing to them.  I love thinking about dancing to “Haiti.”

Then after school, Brent and I both got frostbitten toes in the snowy park and drank his delicious beverages and talked.  I shall not exploit it all, but I will say that when we both returned home to our computers and AIM, mark this, he said, “lol.”  And he says it’s the only time he’ll ever say it.  You know why he said it?  Because I play Runescape.  VALID, yeah.  Bee tee dubz, we iz dating.  I know that’s worthy of something far greater than a bee tee dubz, like an oh-em-eff-gee-zee or an oh-em-gee-smiley-face, but there’s a combination here of wanting to remain nonchalant for your sake, as the reader, so you don’t get confused, and also…how else would I tell you people?  Nonchalant mentionings, that’s how.  It’s a grand time.

Anyway, because I love the Arcade Fire’s muzakkk so, soo much, voilà, une chanson.  Tu peux danser.

Neighborhood #3 (Power Out) | The Arcade Fire


It’s rare, so fucking rare for me to meet people I enjoy being around, who honestly interest me.  People who don’t mind any awkwardness.  Over the past month, though, I’ve been engulfed by the most captivating and genuine group of people.  And the group keeps growing in size and interestingness.  Even this week.

Before I say anything crazy, I’ll just give you a track that has been sitting patiently on my computer for a while.  That’s not to say it’s unlistened to, but a new friend reintroduced me to it via the music video, which reminds me vaguely of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which is a grand movie.  I would, by the by, give you the Final Fantasy remix, but I think that’s good for another day.  Like, when I’m not fucking tired out of my MIND like you don’t even know.  Yeeeah.  It would also be a good idea to post the video.  Shruggity shrug shrug shrug.  Oh well.

Your Ex-Lover Is Dead | Stars

Fine, fuck you and your guilt trips.  Here’s the video.


Here’s what’s going on. Senior fuckin’ project. My mother has said that if I don’t come up with an idea by midnight, then she won’t take me to Richmond next weekend. For a while, I thought that all I wanted to do was either: A) Go vegan or B) Settle for making a vegan meal for friends and family so they understand why I want to go vegan and that it’s not so weird and that it is compassionate living and that I won’t starve. Because my family seems to have some misconceptions about going vegan. Getting wool from animals doesn’t hurt them, for example, and cows don’t need to be artificially impregnated all the time to get milk, and who said anything about steroids? Over Christmas, when the regular vegetarian questioning came up, I was sweating like a mother because if I argued, it would be a lost cause. My family’s so dumb sometimes. I know my mom wouldn’t go for these projects AND I am not so sure that the committee that has to approve of my project will go for either one. They’re applicable! I will go vegan later this year! But how about a settling in first? A trial period or something? Let these middle-aged snores know about it.

Then I was thinking of career-oriented things. What do I want to do when I grow up? Write. That’s what I’ve decided. English or French. Whatever. It’s not hard. It’s so easy. I’d be making money off of writing down what I’m thinking. Isn’t that almost like cheating at life? That’s all I’m doing now, only minus the making money part. Anyway, this magazine article I’d read in ElleGirl came to mind–this intern, Molly Hurford, wrote an article about zine writing called “Zine Queens.” Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not a teen-girl-magazine reader. I used to be, maybe, and perhaps I’m positive that this article came from the one with Avril Lavigne on the cover. But I’m not a teen-girl-magazine reader anymore, because the articles are always the fuckin’ same. Blender and Spin and Under the Radar and Magnet are more my speed. Molly Hurford, though, wrote something that caught my eye when I was still reading ElleGirl, and it made me tear out the article and save it. And it came to mind this morning when I was lying in bed, sniffling, thinking about my senior project. I could write a zine.

What makes me think the committee would approve of this and not of vegan-oriented things? One word: Career. Shruggity shrug shrug shrug. I’ll try it out, and if not, then I’ll just go vegan. Frick. If neither of those works, then I could just teach myself to play clarinet on my great-grandfather’s old-school nice, nice clarinet. Be boring. It’s okay.


OHHHH. I may have seen Juno last night, but until next weekend when I am reunited with Derek, I haven’t seen it. Ever wonder what I’m like? I’m like Juno except I’m not pregnant. But I do take things for granted just like she does, I’m sarcastic, and I get sucked into shit when I just want to be friends with people. Everyone. And we iz both in love. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to be watching a great film about someone like me.

J’ai trois chansons pour toi.

Anyone Else But You (cover) | Michael Cera and Ellen Page
Anyone Else But You | The Moldy Peaches
All I Want Is You | Barry Louis Polisar

Also, just for shits and giggles, just to tell you how Juno made me feel, how life makes me feel, how love makes me feel, here are some of my favourite songs lately. The first is just romantic; the second is one that Derek gave me and it’s just fabulous. And the thiiird just makes me intensely happy every time I hear it. It’s the orchestra-rock vibe, it’s his voice and accent, it’s the lyrics. It makes me want to run away from home and drive six hours just to climb into someone’s bedroom window and lay around for a few hours with said person’s nose and eyelashes on my neck. Just like Bleeker and Juno did in the hospital room. That’s all I want and I think it would be the best.

Passenger Seat | Death Cab for Cutie
Zak and Sara (live in Perth) | Ben Folds
Walcott | Vampire Weekend

The Budos Band

One more thing. I was cruising through iTunes’ free jank a few weeks ago and I downloaded seriously everything I could get my sticky germy paws on. It’s a song called “Chicago Falcon” by the Budos Band. And it’s friggin’ groovy. In fact, the song is perfect for many things.

1. Crusin’
2. Walking to class
3. An action movie like Kill Bill
4. Pimpin’
5. Prepping to pwn a n00b or kill someone
6. Making the most kickass sandwich anyone has ever eaten

That list only barely skims the surface. I love the song and I can’t believe iTunes was giving out such a masterpiece for free. But I’m grateful. You should seek it out, since it’s an iTunes download, which means I can’t give it to you. Which blows big-time.

10 January, 2008, 1151 pm
Filed under: Books | Tags:


No one belongs here more than you.