28 September, 2008, 1125 pm
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I smelled steak.  I smelled London broil.

Derek told me it was just fries, but did you know that the sense of smell is the best at conjuring memories?  Well, it is.  I smelled London broil and I started to cry.

London broil was something my mom used to make when we lived in Richmond.  Actually, when we lived in Richmond as a family, my mom made dinner a lot.  We had sit-down family dinners at the table sometimes.  We ate together.

The two things I remember about my mom from my childhood are the way she smelled (I later found out this was just deodorant) and the clinking of her wedding and engagement rings.  As I grew up, she changed her deodorant and she stopped wearing the rings.

A few weeks ago, we drove by my old house and it’s just bizzare not being able to go in and go up to my room and chill out by myself.  So much of my teen years were based on how often I was able to be alone.  All of that was taken away from me recently.  I lived there for ten years and suddenly, it would be illegal for me to go home.

24 September, 2008, 949 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

I’ve been really naive for the past eighteen years.

I’ve been really naive about everything.

You may think that I’m a well-informed young woman.  All vegan and whatnot.  Conscious of her carbon footprint.  You may think that my love for animals is bold, revolutionary and difficult–inconvenient, even.  I know because I used to look up to this kind of person.  Yeah, well, that’s what you think.

You may think it’s so great that I’m all for equality!  I’m a liberal!  And I’m learning about feminism and I’ve learned that some of the things I’ve said in the past were just stupid.  Like what I said about rape.  And like how I used to use the word “ghey” generously because I figured it was an appropriate synonym for “stupid.”  Nevermind that it sounds the same as “gay.”  I stopped a long time ago, and it’s just a huge improvement on my part.

And you know…it’s great that I read so much.  I’m educating myself.  Most people my age never bother to pick up a damn book because reading is boring.  But I know that it’s crucial.  You have to find the right books.  And I also know that finding your own taste in music is important, too.  Not like I think outside the box, really, but at least I’ve found my true niche musically.  I love what I hear.

Maybe you’re not thinking any of this.  Maybe you think I’m stupid, and that’s inaccurate as well.  You’d only be right if you said that I’m incredibly naive.  Back to the first sentence.  I’m naive.

I thought people really cared about these things.  I thought they made these missions their life.  Education, God, animal rights, feminism, math.  But really, they’re just hobbies.  At the end of the day, they just go home for a good fuck.  That’s it.  When they clock out, their temporary hobbies don’t matter.  It’s all about sex.

I’m not just talking about society and advertising.  I’m talking about life.  The big picture.  Doesn’t it seem so obvious?  I mean, it’s instinct to track down a mate.  We look for soulmates, and life–they tell you that you should live to love.  Everything’s about “love.”  It’s just a nice way to cover it up and say that everything’s about sex.  You fall in love, and you want to have sex with that person.  You have sex, and you may or may not fall in love.  What is love anymore?  And I’m completely serious–what is love?

So as an eighteen-year-old virgin, I feel singled out and stupid.  So many women in the feminist movement tell you that you should have sex.  You shouldn’t worry about retaining your virginity.  It won’t sully you to have sex.  In fact, it’s unhealthy not to have sex.  Fuck Christian morals.  Have sex.  Have sex as often as you want with as many partners as you want.  Virginity doesn’t matter and it doesn’t feel any different to lose it.  You don’t have to rush to lose it or anything, but man, don’t be a fucking prude.  Just get it over with when you’re offered the chance.

Now you think I’m not worth listening to because I’m inexperienced.  Or you think I’m Christian (I’m not, and I don’t see myself waiting until marriage because I don’t even know about marriage).  Or you think I’ve got some moral complex with having sex or at least being deflowered (I simply don’t).

My reason is simple.  I haven’t had three million opportunities to have sex.  I’ve had one, and I felt at my core that I was too young and not ready, so I just declined.  I’m no good at suggestion and I’m really shy.  I’m fairly difficult to obtain because I’m selective and timid, and I’m fairly difficult to retain because I have commitment issues–I’m always in love with someone else.  Oh, and I’m not going to go out of my way to ask some boy flat-out if he wants to fuck–Number One, how romantic would that be?  and Number Two, he would no doubt decline my offer because that would be creepy.  There are some guys who would be turned on by some girl asking them to fuck, but not just any girl.  We’re talking at least sorority-girl hot or cheerleader hot.  I’m very average.

Basically, it’s my decision, and it has nothing to do with religion or morals.  I just don’t want to.  I want to be passionate about other things, like literature and intellectual pursuits and French.  I don’t need sex right now, and I don’t think that will ever be some main focus of my life.  I’m not going to argue that sex sucks.  I think it’s necessary, just as necessary as art or music or eating.  But to make it the focus of everything, the underlying meaning of absolutely everything…it’s overwhelming for me.  I just want intellectual pursuits without sex.

It’s always been weird hearing about people who have stated that they would fuck me or that they find me even mildly attractive (an implication that they could potentially find me fuckable down the road).  But now I understand that it’s just what everything boils down to.  Sex.  It’s not really anything personal, and they don’t love me.  It’s not really that they even like me.  It’s that I have a vagina and reasonable tits.

This is where I have a problem with conformity to “sexual orientations.”  I’m not going to say that it’s actually a preference, something we can turn on and off.  But if love is what I want it to be–if love is about more than just sex–then I’m partial to self-determinism.  The lack of autonomous gender preference.  Or, okay, you could say that I’m heterosexual, and that would be accurate because I’ve always been attracted to males and I’ve always dated males and I’ve never had any sort of intimate relationship with a female (not that I’ve ever had the opportunity because society makes it so unacceptable to be in a same-gender relationship that my mom would probably temporarily disown me).  I am predominantly, overwhelmingly heterosexual.  That doesn’t mean that I’d completely rule out loving a woman, though.  Right now, I’m not talking about sexual experimentation, like so many girls do.  I’m talking about love, like being madly in love with someone.  Love of mind and personality and appearance, but mainly things that extend beyond appearance.  Maybe that would extend to sex.  But it would be primarily based on mind and personality and appearance, because that’s how I evaluate my love for males, too.  I think that confinement to heterosexual or homosexual or bisexual labels is negative because I don’t see any reason why you can’t love whoever you want.  Now, some people would be willing to label me as bisexual for even thinking this way.  Others would prefer to label me as a lesbian because bisexuality “doesn’t exist,” and if I’m dancing with a guy, I’ll always be looking over his shoulder at some girl (not true).  And these are just my thoughts right now–I’ve not even acted on them yet.

For the sex obsession, by the way, it’s not just the men.  It’s the women, too.  Of course, it’s more repressed because it’s less socially acceptable for a girl to express her sexual desires than it is for a guy.  I mean, a guy can express that he has a boner proudly, but a girl can’t express that she’s all wet and horny.  But think about it.  Your female teachers will go home and have steamy sex with their boyfriends tonight.  Maybe after an argument, cold and stiff makeup sex.  Maybe after a romantic dinner.  The girl who made your sandwich at Subway will have sex with her girlfriend after her shift.  That’s everything.  Sex is universal.  It’s so simple.  It’s why we need other people’s approval.  It’s why we care so much about appearance.  We want to get laid.  And unlikely people get laid, too.  Your class president.  The bus driver.  Unlikely people have sex with people who are unlikely candidates to be their sexual partners.  Teachers and students.  The most studious people in your grade with some drug addicts.  Most people you meet have sex or have had sex.  They’re just not sharing.  But I don’t know why not.  Everyone wants it.  Sharing stories would make sex ever so slightly more attainable if it was less secret, and I think it would also make a lot of types of sex less taboo.

Only thing is, I hope I’m wrong about life being about sex.  It’s so disappointing that life might be based on something so simple and even carnal and completely superficial.  It’s so disappointing that I can feel myself plummeting into a depression.  I think I just want boko-maru.  I just want to press the soles of my feet up against those of someone else and let them work their magic.  I want a connection without taking off my clothes.  I want to love simply and to be loved without the expectation of an orgasm all the time.  I want to be loved for being smart and attractive and witty.  But I don’t want to have to be Christian to do it.

P.S.  Many parts of this entry are inspired by BITCHfest.

P.P.S.  I left my secret somewhere in Richmond today, and it helped me to feel better.

21 September, 2008, 1225 pm
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When I was little, sometimes I had night terrors.

The one that comes to mind first occurred when I was about twelve.  I was dreaming about the Spice Girls being shadows on a wall in my room.  For some reason or another, I was terrified and I couldn’t wrench myself from the dream.  I couldn’t wake up.  And I heard thunder and lightning.  Then I really woke up, and the power was out due to a thunderstorm and I was shaky and sweaty and tense and frightened.  I went into my mom’s room.

Another one was a reoccurring dream that happened frequently when I was about seven.  It took place in our apartment.  Every night I went to sleep, a vampire would sneak in through a window.  He looked like a stereotypical vampire–black suit with white ruffles near the throat, a red amulet around his neck, deathly pale face, slicked-back black hair.  He was very cartoon-like, but the fact that he was a vampire was terrifying.  His goal was to steal my musical teddy bear, Mu.  I felt that I needed to protect Mu because I knew that the vampire wanted to replace him with an evil teddy bear that looked just like Mu, only with red eyes.  Or else he wanted to bite Mu and make him evil.  But I was scared of the vampire.  That’s when I began sleeping with the covers up over the back of my head, with only my face peeking out–I didn’t want to be bitten.  It’s a habit that’s stayed with me, but the rationale behind it is lost.

I had another fully cartoon-like dream where a dinosaur was chasing me.  Sometimes, it was on a black background.  Sometimes it was on a brown background.  And I could see myself and the dinosaur running right forever, just like in a cartoon.  At the same time, though, I couldn’t really see myself.  I wasn’t in my body.  I just knew I was a caveperson and I was running from a T-Rex.

More recently, I have had a few nightmares, but I don’t remember them.  I just know that I attempted very hard to rouse myself from sleep, only to find that I was paralyzed and couldn’t move, even in my half-conscious state.  That terrified me more.

Last night, though, I had a trilingual dream.  I was journeying through a country full of narrow cobblestone roads between buildings.  I recognized this counrty as the Czech Republic.  I’ve never even seen photographs of the Czech Republic.  I rode a moped, but I couldn’t get on it right.  One leg was hanging off funny.  It felt awkward.  I watched myself from behind as I rode the moped.  At one point, in a “town square” sealed off by tightly-packed cobblestone buildings, I fell off the moped but didn’t really hurt myself.  I journeyed through the streets for someone to talk to, and found vendors speaking French.  I found a friend and had a conversation with him in franglais.  And then I made a new friend and kept asking him, “Parlez-vous anglais?”  And I knew that he did, but he pretended he couldn’t and he really wanted to speak French even though he couldn’t really grasp it, so I spoke to him in French only.  It was effortless.  We went on a journey of sorts to a nearby cobblestone hotel, and our mission was extremely urgent.  In the lobby, we found his grandmother, and she seemed to love me and she gave me gifts.  She led us through a labyrinth of sorts, and at the end, there was just a solid wall with a window in it.  And you could see the sky and beautiful things outside, I knew, and I looked through it but I couldn’t see out.  I could just see my body, an out-of-body moment.  But I knew that I did see out of the window.  And there was lots of ceremony and crying, because apparently this was my only way to get home and I wanted to go home but I loved them.  And then I pushed on the wall and I was back in the lobby.  Only now, I could use the front door of the hotel to go home.  The carpet in the lobby was red velvet.  I remember that.

20 September, 2008, 804 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

“When you have an asthma attack, you can’t breathe.  When you can’t breathe, you can hardly talk.  To make a sentence all you get is the air in your lungs.  Which isn’t much.  Three to six words, if that.  You learn the value of words.  You rummage through the jumble in your head.  Choose the crucual ones–those cost you too.  Let healthy people toss out whatever comes to mind, the way you throw out the garbage.  When an asthmatic says, ‘I love you,’ and when an asthmatic says, ‘I love you madly,’ there’s a difference.  The difference of a word.  A word’s a lot.  It could be stop, or inhaler.  It could even be ambulance.”
Asthma Attack from The Girl on the Fridge by Etgar Keret

Jay’s mix coming to stores near you.


Derek has a CD player in his car.  He kept spinning the same CD every time he drove me places.  He told me that these were the songs that were constantly stuck in his head.

Since it was the same CD over and over again, I volunteered to make him a new CD with the songs that are constantly stuck in my head.  He thought that was a good idea because his sister allegedly makes him listen to very bad music sometimes.

This CD was only semi-hard work because I had to hunt down the MP3s online via the Hype Machine and then cut two at the end because a CD only holds 80 minutes.  The rest of the work was easy peasy, just picking out songs that I can’t get enough of lately.

The songs are in no particular order because it’s just a bunch of songs that blitzkrieg my brain in no particular order with no warning.  Because of this random order, I am an advocate of putting this mix on shuffle whenever you want.

And here’s my reasoning for each track in no particular order (main reasoning = catchy).  There are also download links over yonder.

Virgin Suicides [ysi] | Van She
Okay, I’ve already written about how awesome this song is, but I honestly don’t see how anyone could dislike it.  It’s upbeat and happy.  Think “Look Up” by Stars, except without all the encouraging parts.

Two Silver Trees [ysi] | Calexico
“Two Silver Trees” is what “Young Bride” by Midlake was to me about a year ago.  I take this song seriously.

Kids [ysi] | MGMT
The first time I heard “Kids,” I wasn’t paying attention.  And then I ended up downloading it, and for the first two weeks of school, it was my silly anthem for walking around campus.  I felt so MGMT.

Little Monsters [ysi] | Charlotte Gainsbourg
I love bells and I love her whispery Jane Birkin/Serge Gainsbourg-inherited voice.  This song is small furry mystical creatures on the beach on a fall night night during a meteor shower.  Charlotte Gainsbourg could make death by bubonic plague sound good.

Af607105 [ysi] | Charlotte Gainsbourg
What I also love about Charlotte Gainsbourg is that most of her songs are night songs with an accent, for when you’re warm and comfortable and relaxed and in some kind of indescribable state of bliss.  Maybe naked.

Irene [ysi] | Caribou
I think I picked this one up from AllThingsGo once, but disregarded it for the most part.  However, upon moving into college, I discovered that I had a snoring roommate.  My methods of coping during the wee hours of the morning included turning the AC on high, turning on the TV, making banging noises and pretending I couldn’t help it, using earplugs, and listening to my iPod.  During one of the iPod nights, I was able to sleep, but was roused not by loud, unsettling music like the Fall of Troy, but in fact by some of the most peaceful and beautiful music I had ever heard.  In my heavy-lidded, half-conscious state, I noted that the song was “Irene” by Caribou.  It’s been constantly replaying since.

St. Petersburg [ysi] | Brazilian Girls
I lurk the Hype Machine frequently and actually found this track in the “Popular” section.  I downloaded “L’Interprete” because it looked like a French name.  “St. Petersburg” was a tagalong, but I actually like it more because while it’s very chill and catchy, it also soars at some parts and comes down from those orgasms appropriately.

Evening Life [ysi] | The XYZ Affair
While this is a summer song, um, hello?  Most of September is still summer.  We just don’t consider it summer because it’s a transitional month, and we have school and work again.  Well, work for teachers.  It’s the same as June being spring, December being fall, and March being Winter.  I know they’re out of order.  Anyway, I just like the melody, I think, and the singer’s fairly high voice.

Id Engager [ysi] | of Montreal
We all know that of Montreal is crazy fun.  I just think this a subtle improvement on their old stuff.  Less senselessness, but still enough.  Still high-quality, same genre, same Kevin Barnes, same play on words.  Of Montreal is still creepy sex.

Parisian Skies [ysi] | Maximo Park
This one’s an Ali.  You can always tell Alis because they’re British.  Much like “I Adore You” by Melpo Mene “Parisian Skies” floats like clouds.  But they’re more aggressive, passionate clouds.  I have enjoyed this track all summer at the beach, in the car, in bed, walking.  It sounds like I’m a sex addict.  Oh, also, I’m a francophile, so of course I love an amazing indie rock song called Parisian Skies.  Come on, guys.

Gold Mine Gutted [ysi] | Bright Eyes
I used to listen to the Metronomy remix nonstop, but I’ve begun to reappreciate the glory of the original now.  It’s a lot sadder.  In many ways, I think that’s a plus.  It more accurately represents Bright Eyes.  There’s something so chill and spacelike about the original.  It feels like floating.

Two Doors Down [ysi]| Mystery Jets
Yet another fabulous contribution from Ali.  While I initially disliked the eighties touches, now I know I’m in love.  I guess it depends on how you listen.

Gobbledigook [ysi] | Sigur Rós
While a lot of Sigur Rós’ other material is often floaty and dragged out, Gobbledigook is a definite rock piece, all business, no nonsense.  But the percussion makes me want to skip around gleefully.

I’ll Kill Her [ysi] | Soko
She said, “Please can you make some beautiful baybeeez?!”
Little angry Frenchwoman who has her entire life planned out.  I definitely don’t mean any harm to blondes, ever, by putting this song up here.  “All she’s got is blondeness, not even tenderness!”  If I had the space or the patience, I’d put all the lyrics here.

I Blame Coco [ysi] | I Blame Coco
I am a fan of delicate, pretty voices, which is one of my problems with a lot of French music.  A lot of them have deep, raspy voices.  Not a fan.  Coco’s not French, but she is Sting’s daughter and she is my age, and she does have a deep voice.  But her song’s fun, and her voice is a classy addition to this very low-key chanson.

Dishwasher [ysi] | Fujiya & Miyagi
My main obsession with this song is the low-key nature.  Then there’s the percussion.  Then there’s the “raspberry rrrrripple ice cream” part.

Complicated (Avril Lavigne Cover) [ysi] | Ben Gibbard
Shut up!  This is serious!
Wanna know my secret?  I listen to Avril Lavigne to fall asleep some nights.  IT’S OUT.  And while Ben points out that her life isn’t very complicated, man…this is a good cover, especially with the talking at the beginning and at the end.  Those parts make the song.

Hello Benjamin [ysi] | Melpo Mene
I’ve already declared that I’m in love with this band.  But there’s something about the melancholy tone of this one that just gets to me.  That, and it’s always moving.

Broadripple Is Burning [ysi] | Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s
I will haunt you like a ghost
I keep running into this song.  It’s more delicate than a Bright Eyes song.

10 September, 2008, 353 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Today, I:

Turned in a shitty draft of a paper.  I mean the Shittiest Paper I Have Ever Written.  And it was about being vegetarian/vegan and not wanting to tell anyone because of ARGUMENTS.

Leaned away from agnosticism towards atheism.  Brent and Travis Day TRAVIS DAY Travis Day would be proud, possibly.  I only say that because when Travis says he just CTRL+F’s his name and that’s how he reads this.

Spent hours revising above paper.

Ate only Sour Patch Kids (I know I will crash soon, so I plan to go to Subway, plus my mouth hurts).

Ran into three people from my high school, waved at one and got a confused look.  Fuck me.

Paid little attention in classes because computer battery was dead from hard work on paper.

Nothing Else.

Currently, I’m uploading tracks for that September mix thang, so hold tight, yo.  It just takes a really long time.  I hope to have that post done by the end of today.  Ya.

6 September, 2008, 1104 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I do not like to think that I’m easily offended because for the most part, I’m not.  Most times that people insult me, they’re being sarcastic.  And most times that people fling stings of profanities past my face, they’re not directed at me.

But here’s the thing.

The number one insult you could direct at me is that I’m stupid.  I am extremely self-conscious about my intelligence level, and even more so about my opinions and manner of thinking and set of morals.  I’ve been known to get defensive of a band I live for by putting them down a bit before someone listens, because I don’t want to get other people’s hopes up or they may never trust my opinions again.

The number two insult you could direct at me is that I’m fat.  I am not, but I’ve been overly aware of my body for a long time.

The number three insult you could direct at me is that I’m ugly.  Again with the self-consciousness and awareness of flaws.

And then after the direct insults, which are blows at everything I am, then I get mad at name-calling.

“Bitch” isn’t that bad.  It sucks that all the worst things you could call a man or a woman are female-related words.  If you refer to me as the basic definition of a bitch, well, sometimes you’re right, but I’m generally peaceful and lenient and flexible.

“Fucker” also makes me laugh a bit.  How bad is that?

“Fuckface” begins to get at me because while the term is nonsense, it implies ugliness.  And that’s number three.

“Cunt” is probably the worst.  It’s just insulting.  I don’t mind casual use, but once you’ve directed it at me, you’ve pretty much shown that you have zero respect for me.  While f-bombs can be repaired, c-bombs cannot.

4 September, 2008, 144 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

there’s a super 8-track playlist for this month on the way (I’m trying to get maybe four more tracks that I really love).

I always wondered why bloggers stopped updating as frequently when school started.  Now I know.

And an interesting story:  I went to the gym with my neighbour and the guys at the desk scanned our cards.  The one let my friend go, but then the one who scanned my card asked, “Is your birthday 8/28/90?”  I replied, “Yeah.”  How is that relevant?  He gave me my card, and as we were walking away, I heard the other guy go, “Makes you feel old, doesn’t it?”

I know that I look like I’m thirteen.  I know that I’m really young compared to other kids in my grade.  But what the fuck?

3 September, 2008, 344 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ,

At the bus stop when I heard this girl speaking fluent French on her cell phone to another apparently fluent person.  Here’s how many other people I know who would be willing to have a French conversation with me on the phone because they speak some French:  Two (yes you, Divya, plus Erika).  Here’s the percentage regarding how many of us are fluent:  Zero.  I am so damn hungry for fluency.  I’m ravenous.  I’m a savage cannibal.  rrrrrrrrrrr.  That’s why I’m at college!  I need to take classes and become immersed in the language.  And I’m not doing what I need to because of scheduling conflicts.  How fucked up is that?

I just thought that there was a way for me to inch closer to fluency over the summer, and I’m not nearly there now.  And additionally, I feel that there are a lot of people who are more qualified than I am to become French majors.  I’m only going to be in 201 next semester (because, of course, they were all taken this semester and I am forced to wait)!  I’ve only taken three years of French and I feel like I should have taken seven.  Yeah, I skipped one year.  Big deal.  There are people who catch on after one year of basic high school French effortlessly, and I worked my ass off all three years.  I have no accent–first-years can have accents.  And I’m embarrassed to spout off French when people ask me to.  I had the opportunity to call someone a bastard the other day, but I didn’t because I was on the bus and I was afraid that other people would critique my shitty American accent.  I have zero confidence regarding my French speaking skills, but I am a strong writer in French, as well as a strong reader.  So this girl, yeah, I love French and I am jealous of her.  I’m fucking jealous of someone for being able to speak a language.

Oh, yeah.  And if you think knowing French gets you laid, it totally doesn’t.

I feel as though I should be an instant success story.  I’ve fallen in love with some French music, and I feel that if I listen to it frequently, I should be able to pick up the whole language.  Well, I know that’s not how it works.  I know that I’d have to listen to RFI too.  And do you know how hard it is to find French indie pop/rock?  Fucking impossible!  So I have to rely on Yelle, Serge Gainsbourg, Carla Bruni, Jane Birkin, France Gall, Françoise Hardy, Brigitte Bardot, The Arcade Fire, and Charlotte Gainsbourg.  Not complaining about them, but I want like…I don’t know.  The Arcade Fire in complete French instead of partial French.

I guess I’ve been questioning my worthiness, not my ability or motivation or anything like that.  I know that I want to be a French major, and that I am in love with the language and the culture of France and French-speaking regions.  I just feel so distant from it, and it feels unrealistic.  I’m afraid I’m declining and deteriorating as a French wannabe.  And I’m not authentic.  I think that’s what bugs me the most.  I wish I could just be French and leave it at that.

2 September, 2008, 1254 pm
Filed under: Music | Tags: ,


She’s SO CHILL.  I love her music.  Je veux regarder Le Science Des Rêves maintenant!  I want other people to experience the wonder of the film!  I’m so excited for no reason!  Today holds nothing exciting!  I’m not even dressed yet!

Af607105 | Charlotte Gainsbourg
[zshare] [mediafire]
[buy] [direct link]
Charlotte Gainsbourg’s Website
Charlotte Gainsbourg’s MySpace

I need to get dressed and check the mail and then maybe make some art or write more.  I dunno.