In The Back Of Cars, I Might Be Right

Wanna know what's been on repeat on my iTunes for the past week? I bet you would.

It's a little group called "Safe Inside," and I know many of you have heard of them, but they are worth a look. The group is made up of two guys, Mike and Alex, from Roch-town (my hometown, so obviously they rock the shit).

Hold on, you haven't heard the best yet (<- Where have I heard that before?). Their EP is only five bucks! If you feel the need to hear some more, which you do, check out their myspace page at http://www.myspace.com/safeinside and click on the paypal link.

You won't regret a cent or second spent.

--- --- --- ---

So, that was my plug for the music scene, now back to your scheduled, angst programming.

I went through my past blogs earlier this morning, and I read them all. It is so interesting what you remember, and what you forget about yourself. I've only had this one since last July, and there is so much here. Those of you hailing from facebook, you only have the newer ones, to view the whole truth, you've gotta head on over to http://letsheatitup.blogspot.com!

"Like Halloween or Madri Gras,
We dress to sell our lies.
There's gotta be something more
than the air over my head.
I'm sick and I'm tired
of those who don't care."

Though you may have guessed it, you probably didn't expect it. I am hailing Caribou again as a place of refuge. My boss told me today that I can keep coming to work, but he literally doesn't have anything that I can really do. I guess that means free money to blow on coffee and start saving for laSpringBreak in Cali.

Honestly, I've got birds in my ears that tell me California is material paradise. Is it sad that I view California as the cliche? The devil on my shoulder is telling me to hate perfection, just to spite the millions that love it.

I realized it earlier this morning that I can't tell my own motives for action. Am I growing my hair out because of the who people tell me to, the people who tell me not to, or do I actually want longer hair for once in my life? Does it matter? Maybe not...

Okay, so in more outstanding news, I've decided I'm taking twenty-three credits next semester. By summer, I will literally be finished with my Liberal Education Requirements, which is rather ridiculous. My schedule consists of Chem2, Phys2, Psych, Sociology, World History, and a Rhetoric class on ideologies and the media. Prepare for a John with literally no social life. Everyone knows I'm in over my head. I just need to make up for the fact that I will be in Korea for an entire semester, unable to do anything that will transfer back to school.

--- --- --- ---

This is the colored chalk
designed on your sidewalk
winding from nostril[to]navel,
traversing, like a desert.

I offered you love like a bottle of water
to make the trip,
but you snickered and placed
phone on receiver.

And I told the dial tone
that you were a journey in progress.
I could make the trip
if you faxed me the map.

--- --- --- ---

Unlock her lips so I can breathe.

The Consonants and Vowels.

I am a breath of fresh air.

This lack of crabbiness may have something to do with my current location. I am getting paid to sit in Caribou, drink coffee, and write haikus. There may be no better way to spend a quality Thursday afternoon in December (besides sledding with my nearest and dearest neighbor! Shoutout).

I really don't understand the point of asking for things for Christmas when I don't get them. This is the part in the blog where I complain about my life and you skip this paragraph. I didn't get that book to learn Korean, and Barnes and Noble apparantly is against the country of Korea and all pre-med students. Their alphabetical listing of languages skips from Japanese to Latin. Even Latvian has a book, but Korean is nowhere to be found. There are two books on cracking the MCAT. Two. At the university book store, there are no short of five-hundred different books on getting into medical school. So, not only did I not get what I want, I can't go buy it myself (until January 13th).

I saw Holiday (the movie) yesterday, and I have decided that I am moving to England to start my life over. Obviously, I am living on the wrong side of the Atlantic, because my life (as of now) is not exactly a romantic-comedy. Millions of years from now, sociologists will suspect that divorce rates are so high in the "00s" because there were not enough clones of Jude Law ('s character. I guess we can do without all of the cheating-on-the-wife-with-the-nanny). I shall be forever forced to recognize the inadequacies in my personality and ther personalities of others. I am not a bubbly, movie-trailer-making blonde from L.A. who can't bring himself to cry, or a widower with two adorable girls that reviews books for a living. I don't have an english accent. I can't compose music. I don't live in an adorable cottage in Cary Grant's hometown or in an extravagant mansion in the city of angels. I, in the world of Holiday, am closer to the screw-up exes.

So, like I said, I am in Caribou. Of the four tables surrounding me, there is exactly one laptop per person and one laptop per four chairs. Of the ones I can see the screen (three including mine), there are none doing anything remotely productive. I am blogging. The girl immediately to my left is on myspace, and the girl directly behind me is checking facebook. The only one who remains a mystery is the man in front of me. I would say that it's safe to say he's not doing anything, either, because he's on a MacBook (and I'm not sure if I've ever seen anything productive happen on those. They're just too pretty to work on.)

Four people. Four laptops. Eight tables. Sixteen chairs. (Eighteen if you count the two comfy chairs behind me).

This makes me assume that most of the world's population has a laptop, though I am quite sure the children in Ethiopia would disagree. When I was little I used to tell my parents that if the starving children wanted my food, we should package it up and send it to them. Let's just say that thought didn't go over so well. I've always been rather ungrateful, but we'll just say that this was apparantly an unacceptable threshold to cross.

Wait. Another woman has joined the madness. She has taken a seat in one of the large, cushy chairs. She too, with her long, NorthFace jacket and choppy, business-woman, brown hair, has a laptop. She may be doing work, though. I am genuinely impressed. Not everyone in Rochester is living the fabulous life of leisure. (I find this hard to believe). Though I guess seeing is believing.

The truth is that I'm writing so much because I am alone. In Caribou. And I wish someone was here with me, but no one is. And I don't have headphones to listen to music. And I am not a starring character in Holiday! Obviously, I am lacking some form of gumption. (I had to look up that spelling).

A few things that I have decided:
If I could sing, I would write you a Emmy-winning where I dueted with Christina A. to let seventy-five million people know exactly how I feel.
If I could dance, you had better bet that I'd be Ginger-Rogering my ass off for you.
(I bet you didn't even know Ginger Rogers could be used as a verb).
If I was a munchkin, I would setup a guild just for you.
If I was the creator of South Park, I would write an offensive, uncut script where you saved Jude Law from a burning building, but managed to piss off at least one person from each ethnic background in existence.
If I was an ice sculptor, I would not set my chainsaw down for a second while I carved you awakening from a giant clam shell.
If I had a million dollars, I would buy you a green dress
(but not a real green dress, that's cruel).

All because you're the Merideth to my McDreams,
The fries to my happy meal,
The whipped cream to my mocha latte,
The laptop to my life of leisure,
The wordplay to my clever blogging poetry.

Love.

Yes, I'll Be Just Fine

I would rather do physics than sit at home alone today.

My brain has been acting so oddly lately. Yesterday, I cleaned (against the will of my parents) for several hours while my sisters went to some faux-Christmas rave. Then, I watched Will and Grace for two hours, and a Christmas movie that I'm sure I missed the point of. Of course I couldn't fall asleep because I fed my stupid caffiene addiction that isn't going away.

I feel vicious, tired, and indifferent. Like I could kill something because I am bored. The problem is that you're in my way, and I actually like you. I wish I didn't, because fighting you would be so much easier. Motion City is writing my life, and I'm starting to hate that anyone else has ever heard of them. They should sing for only me, because I'm so emo. If I had my way, I would be an evil-doctor-rocket-science-monster with capabilities to destroy the entire universe.

Today is Christmas Eve, the first day that I've wished Christmas had passed weeks ago. I would give anything for it to be January 13th. I would give anything to be back at school. I would give anything to be wisdomtoothless already. I would give anything to be hated on by the pretty boys that won't say hi. I would give anything to be bothered by things that shouldn't bother me (instead of things that should).

The least you could do is take it back (all the vicious remarks and verbal attacks).

This is how I get when I get like this. Disjointed. Harmful. Volatile.

I spent a 1/2 hour yesterday reading an astology book on the floor of Barnes and Noble, because I couldn't bear to tear myself away to do something worthwhile, because I have nothing worthwhile to do (except clean, watch TV, and pick fights). My dad just made breakfast for five when there are only three people here. He told me he hopes I'm hungry (I'm not).

I don't know if you are listening, because I would've given up already. I just hope my parents bought me something to teach me Korean so I can focus on something else after we open these presents I haven't deserved for the past fifteen years.

I was nervous from the start that our muscles might tear us apart.
One day I'll fail to breathe, and all you'll have are memories.

I am tired and hungry and totally useless
(in this deparment).

It's Just My Luck To End Up Getting Stuck

To everything you are.

All Hail The Heartbreaker, I am in love with you all over again. I cannot believe the songs that I occasionally forget.

...
I cannot weave my arms into the sky
and hold the sun from slipping underneath her sheets.
The seasons are drifting into winter,
and the narcoleptic sun hardly mounts her navy throne
before she falls asleep once more,
and the servant stars guide her to rest in the mountains.

Staring toward the horizon,
I frowned because it was only four o'clock,
and you just sighed.
"It seems like all I'm seeing lately sunsets"

...
"I can honestly say that I have never (ever ever) felt this way. Your lips, your eyelashes, your skin (these are the parts of your body that cause my comatose to begin)."

Seriously, though, it is four o'clock and the depressing sun is retreating already. I need some caffiene, but I feel like I should never have coffee after dark (it kinda reminds me of Meet Virginia, the timing is not right). I've only had one meal today and I really want to order pizza. My favorite kinda is Hawaiian from Domino's (or Venice, Italy if you can manage). It will be like an early Christmas gift.

I've wasted another weekend in worship of school. It's like I've become more and more studious lately, staying up until physics is done (it's never done) and english is typed up (writing is harder when someone encourages it) and i can pretend like I am satisfied with the amount of work I have done (I'm never satisfied). Ten days until freedom and Christmas and stress about being home instead of stress about being at school and opening presents and counting to the new year when we can all pretend that we are starting new. We aren't.

Anyway, I'm sending all my love to you through a keyboard and a blue-and-white-web-site. (You better catch it safe and sound).

Incidentally, I have reached 1000 walls posts today. It's amazing what you can accomplish when you set your mind to it (wait, what?).

PS: We're not twenty-one, but the sooner we are, the sooner the fun will begin.

I'm Talented At Breathing

Reasons why you should invest in me:

I am
raging, spinning, yelling, smiling, dancing, kissing, telling, breathing, laughing, walking, stopping, kicking, screaming, singing, wishing, fighting, lying, whispering, living.

I have green eyes. I have blue eyes. I have grey eyes. I can fly. I like to clean, and do your dishes, and give backrubs, and make you smile. I love to make you smile. I do cheesy things like write poems and blog.

Reasons why I'm not worth the stress:

I am not therapuetic. I don't have wings. I can be trite. I am too thin. I am too fat. I love being a fashion victim. I have color changing eyes. I can't sing. I will forget your middle name, and your birthday, and your favorite color, and your phone number. I am over-the-top. I am addicted to caffiene. I write things like these. I shouldn't be let loose on a keyboard.

I have so much to say and nothing to say it with and no one to say it to and no time to say it.

New Shoes Stuck to Aging Feet

Thanksgiving has passed, and so has the thanking. I am back to wanting again.

I continually assure myself that I need nothing, but I haven't recently been able to tell myself that I don't want anything. I want everything.

I want to be a doctor and a novelist. I want to run a marathon. I want the new volume of Nylon magazine. I want to be chased through the streets of Los Angeles by the paparazzi. I want a loft apartment in Manhattan and a villa in Naples. I want to be free. I want to just be happy for five minutes. I want to finally not want. I want to put on a fake moustache, rob a bank for kicks, and give the large, tan bags of money to the some charity that I will select at random. I want to dance in the middle of Washington Avenue. I want a really long scarf that keeps my neck warm and almost drags on the ground. I want coffee from a different coffee shop every day. I want speak Korean and travel to Japan. I want to move to Paris and become an ex-patriot.

...I cannot tell if you are reading, because your eyes are no longer dotting my [I]s...

I will not worry about people staring at my calves when I roll my pants up in December. I will not settle for anything, and I will not demand that anyone settles for me. I will not sing under my breath. I will not ache. I will not take pain killers because my mattress sucks. I will not kiss and tell. I will not starve myself. I will not eat ice cream (unless I want ice cream), and I will not eat carbs (unless I want fettuccini and garlic bread). I will not devote my life to making myself miserable. I will not be forgotten like a Wednesday evening. I will not be gone before you know I'm here.

And all I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.