Saturday, February 27, 2010

These are the facts.

I was born in New Hampshire, moved to Georgia before my first birthday, and to the city of Chicago before my sixth.

I am allergic to pot and honey.

I don't smoke, and I don't drink.

I grew up in Lincoln Park, and got picked on by all the private school kids and rebelled by trying to be the exact opposite of them; I am honest, friendly, and I don't pick on people smaller than me.

I have had a green mohawk, shaved my head, and had all sorts of bizarre and horrible haircuts in my life.

I got my nose broken in a mosh pit at the fireside bowl when I was 13.

In high school, I was miserable, all four years.

I might have a chemical addiction to nail polish and tattoo ink.

I got my first tattoos on my 18th birthday.

I have 18 tattoos at this moment.

I have 2 cats, Pouncer and Poppie, and I have a tattoo of my cat that died, Pearl.

I like to read, and watch movies.

I hosted a teen open mic for a number of years in high school, it was my singular salvation. Later I would sing in it, with my one-man-band The Alphabet. At open mic, I would dance alone until other people stopped caring about what people thought and would join me.

I am not into piercings, really. I like really weird ones. I had a dermal anchor in my chest for almost a full year, and a transverse lobe piercing for about 6 months.

I don't claim to be an expert on anything.

I have travelled some, and will likely travel a lot more.

I don't like New York.

I am moving to Seattle.

I mostly listen to 90's grunge, pop, and post-grunge alternative music, and a little bit of bluegrass and country and a lot of 80's new wave.

My favorite song this week:

I love Abraham Lincoln, and american history.

I am not a feminist, because I think the movement is no longer necessary, we got the rights.

I am an optimist, and passifist, but I fight like hell for things I believe in.

I cry a lot.

I laugh even more.

I try not to dwell.

I have to go to work.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010


Wednesday is a great day.

John had to get up early, but I got to lounge around all day and sleep until 2 in his great big bed.

When I woke up, there was a bagel that he got for me, waiting. It was delicious.

The Carly Simon pandora station is slowly being replaced in my listening habits, with Fleetwood Mac, Cake, Weezer, and Jens Lekman. When the Barry Manilow cover of "Memories" from Cats, got played more than once in one hour, serious rotations needed to be made.

After 2 weeks of reduced portions, eating slower, and walking/exercising more, I am already down just under 10 lbs. I didn't even have to give up grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon.

I am a peanut-butter and jelly fiend, lately.

Also, the new girl at work is wonderful. I have been there for just over 2 years, and new people are exciting. All my new co-workers are awesome, and we seems to have a crop of new regulars, too, which is exciting.

I really feel now, more than ever, that I am a part of my neighborhood. Wellington to Altgeld, and Southport to Halsted. I know people. I know where people live, and work, and when I am walking down the street, to or from work, or anywhere, chances are I can say "Hello" to someone I know.

Also, while I was sad to see Coconuts go all those years ago, the fact that there is a Lover's Lane there right now, amuses me to practically no end. And the building right behind it is this beautiful curved porches, big, glass, fishbowl turrets, and it sucks to know that John could have lived there, when it was still Peter's apartment, but shit, it's a beautiful building, and I have seen a lot of trash go up in this neighborhood over the past 10 years.

I hope they put something as pretty in the lot where Billy Corgan's house used to be. That was a beautiful fucking house.


For now, I am going home, to hang out with my mom. I love her, and have felt, lately, more than probably ever in my life, really glad to have her around. I love talking to her.

Also, I love John Lennon, and this.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Nine Inch Nails SUCKS (get over it, you hags): An Open Letter

I could write a 5,000 word essay on much I loathe Trent Reznor. He is an idiot, and a tool.

The music is melodramatic, it's 7th grade, it's 30+ year old women that pick on "little girls", I haven't thought about you idiots in months. Yes, I said idiots, and that's all you'll ever get out of me, you poor, pathetic children. I am washing you dumb cunts out of my hair. I have bigger fish to fry, and a blog to write, and when you come back, week after week, to read what I write, I hope you titter and giggle, and then I hope you consider your situation. You are grown women, who don't know me, and have made your own questionable choices.

I can't fight childishness, cattiness, and name-calling with logic, it just doesn't work.

I think it's funny that someone who is proud of pictures in ass-less stripper costumes questions my fashion sense.

Burn my effigies, eat me, shut up, move on.

I couldn't be more done with you. You are a joke, your blog is a joke. It's been almost 6 years, if your new beau is so great, move on, please.

I'm almost ashamed I stooped to your level. Almost.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


All in all, this winter has been far superior to last. This winter is racing by, and before I know it, I will probably be in southern Italy with John. I am ready.

Last winter I stayed at home all day and all night and watched Youtube videos. The back catalogs of vloggers, and I loved these people. I admired them all from afar, and my disinterest with my own life, and envelopment with theirs was nothing short of weird.

Spring came, as it does, and I got a bike, and rode it, even though I didn't lose as much weight as the summer before. Hopefully I will shed some serious poundage before I leave for Italy. Now I am going to start counting my chickens, and my calories, and my swim suits, and my heart beats. I need to, or I will end up in Italy all lumpy and insecure.

Now it's time to sleep, and I don't hate anything anymore. I just need a nice bike ride to the beach listening to Ceremony by New Order, and I want to swim.

Tomorrow will be a good day, y'all.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Middle School Wasn't That Long Ago

To you, buck up.

And to you, how many times can it be said? GO AWAY. Why my boyfriend? Why my life? GET OUT.

That's all I got.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Jessica Anne's Chaos

Dear Jessica:

On Sunday, during Sheer Chaos, when you had walked across the stage, and you were standing there, taking everything in, whatever you were doing, I wanted to get out of my chair, throw your birdbones over my shoulder and set you down in a bed, or a couch, or a nice chair, and paint you. All I could think about was wanting the world to see your cheek bones and collar bones and the knuckles of your index fingers. You are delicate lines and I just wanted to wallpaper your house with lace and bones and the kind of hands pianists have. I'd paint you on the ceiling and I'd paint your fingernails.

Do you have any idea how weird it all felt, at once, during that one play?

It was a great play.

Good work.

When I am a neo-futurist, you better still be one too.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


My negativity and anger is easily smothered by new people. Magical radiohead-girls, and awkward nerd-boys.

New people are exciting.

My hopes aren't up.
My hopes aren't up.
My hopes aren't up.

7 minutes until the bus comes.

I miss Fuzzy, so much. I miss him to the end of the earth and back. Maybe I ought to arrange another trip out west. I love that boy.

This is us last February. by the pacific.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


The social "thing" has never come easy for me. I don't know if it's autism, or if I just think too much, or what, but it's a problem.

I feel like I try so hard, and nothing ever comes of it.

I am so eager and willing and I would do anything.

I am no butterfly.

I am mostly quiet, and still, and anxious, and emotional or something.

But you, you filthy, gorgeous, skanky, perfect princess. I hate you. You're nice, and friendly, and prettier than me. You breeze through these situations like they are the air you breathe and I could literally sucker punch you with my sweaty anxious fists.

I wish you would go away.

Please go away.

Maybe it should be me.

I hope I get the part in the play.

I need something to think about other than how I feel so left out among the people I spend the most time with.

I don't fit in. I am a baby. I don't want to get drunk and climb trees. I have never wanted to do that.

I don't belong anywhere

The thing is, every once in a while I think about this:

"i will never be a part/i will always be apart"

as a tattoo. But it's so defeatist and I hate that attitude.

Who am i kidding?

I hate everything.

Monday, February 1, 2010

My Monday Overshare (do not read if you can't handle a good TMI)

So, I just had sex with my magnificent boyfriend and I am going to get a bikini wax in a few hours and I am kind of nervous it will still be all sensitive. Shit.

Also, I hate it when people do shit like this, especially on facebook.

I consider myself a normally classy kind of lady, and I don't like it when people are all over-sharing and up in my brain with things I don't want to hear about.

I could have lived my whole life without even wanting to think of wanting to know if the shocker "actually feels kinda good!".

This has been my Monday Overshare. Don't expect another.