Fuck off, November.

I am ready for December

and the sun

and sand

and warmth

and sunburns

and bathing suits

and palm trees

and driving in cars

and air conditioning

and fast food

and smog

and dreaming

not buses

not snow

not walking

not cocoa

not working

not coats

not scarves

not scratching

not chicken

not pie

not heaters

not worrying

Be gone.

Hej hej,

Any

Happy birthday.

To.



Me.


Good bye nine
teen


Hej hej,

Any

I think I feel I see I know.

I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know and why?

Hej hej,

Any

Itchy legs

Sweat all over me
rolling down my cheek
neck
arms
back
breasts
legs
aching muscles
climbing up and down
pivoting stepping bending twisting
Take a breath--

You mean I'm not even close to being done?
I don't know if I like moving.

I wish I could settle down and be idle and comfortable
forever

because I am tired of itchy legs and arms.

Hej hej,

Any

It's September.

I'm waiting...

taptaptap

... and you still haven't said a word.

I guess we aren't important.
That's fine.

At least

the Situation is
two-sided
now!

re-Joyce.


Hej hej,

Any

Trot.

Please don't find this//
Please don't find this//
Please don't find this//
Please don't find this//
Please don't find this//
Please don't find this//


Friday.


Hej hej,

Any

Follow lonely crowds, those clouds will come.

I am not listening
beyond the 8-bit
in my ears. I am busy
burping up
the milk in my belly and feeling
dreadfully lazy
about the idea of brushing my teeth.


The thought of tomorrow
sickens me

Come Saturday
quicker
so I don't have to ever
see you

again.

I know it's brash, I know it is impulsive, and it is all so very typical of me. It makes things a lot easier to deal with. Nobody knows what happened
but I have to turn from you
and silently say
Gute Nacht
in your ear one more time. I hope time can erase your face
and your words
your grin
your charm
your whispers in my ear
your hot breath and damp palms-
your significance
your drunken cigarettes
your laughter
your justice
your lively eyes
your embrace-
All of it

away.
I need to experience
better things.
Remove me from this hook--

You're just a hurdle, right now.

Come Saturday
I won't be over you.

Damn it.


Hej hej,

Any

I wanted--

I wanted to post a poem I wrote for a course I had taken.

Then I realized that was not such a good idea.

You can wait to read it in the New Yorker, though.


Hej hej,

Any

Dream.

Writing this down as fast as I can before my mind goes to sleep for the day.

Me. Him. From Ireland. But American.
Ran into him randomly during a vacation with my grandmother.
Wooed me by singing various "The Early November" tracks.
I barely communicated with him verbally-
but it was a grand time.
I died- with every eye twinkle,
his crooked teeth,
goofy remarks.
Dreamworlds do not remind one you're taken.
But, nothing happened like that.
It was happiness love.

What I needed. I had happy dreams for once
And you were there, putting a smile on my face
as much as you do when I am in your presence.

Running through vacation houses, angering divas from a random MTV show-
Riding in the backseat of cars
Staring at you, still, until you decided to break out in song.
Wonky glasses.

The happy dreams were the best I could imagine
in this time of stress.
But now I'm a mess with this image of you
that is pretty much not real but has the potential to be accurate.


Forgive me.
I just woke up,
Crust lining the corner of my lips, outlining that happiness-smile from the happiest dream I had in a while.
Terrible at translating my thoughts to type.

Hej hej,

Any

Little hope.

Restoration needed inside of me. This week of contemplation, I have realized what is wrong with a lot of lonely souls. Buried, deeper and deeper, dying to crawl up and out and breathe in the sun: we want to get out and continue to believe there is no way up. The lie in believe feeds our hopelessness.
Scramble: bee live >>>>> be alive

Be alive!
There is no hole!
There are no walls!
You are in a field- vast and endless: run through it!

Encourage yourself to do
what you must-
and every good thing you
put effort in is
worth while.



The only hard part of this healing: forgiving
those who made you feel like you were trapped in the hole.

Ignore them.
There is no hole.
There are no walls.
You are in a field: vast and endless- run through it.

Seize the day
and every opportunity thrown at you. Keep your hands
and mind busy from here on out
in order to feel,
to breathe,
happiness.

There is a little hope right now.
Believe.

Be alive.


Hej hej,

Any

Aloha, July.

Here
and back
And there for a while
Now I am
changed
Like I thought
I would be
good thank
you for being here
with me the happy tunes
playing in my ear
echo of Wanting to go
back but the Knowing
it wasn't my place
to be
forever
I must keep looking
excuses I love
July blink of an eye
like Finny
worth my time
I loved
happy to be Here
hello Goodbye
July.


Hej hej,

Any

Retirement.

I won't lock you on the hillside
Where the fire comes each October.
I won't lock you at seaside
'Cause that's not any better-
When it rains, it pours
You'll get swallowed by the shores.



To be continued. Someday.

Hej hej,

Any

A simple photograph.

This post will start with something I wrote somewhere else.



No matter how much philosophy I have, and probably will study, when someone dies, someone is dead.

It doesn’t feel any better.

It certainly feels worse.

The situation isn't as serious as I am making it sound. People die every day. The thing is, when you know a face that has died (you don't have to actually know the person), you feel this violent wave of rage come over you, then you feel sad.
The feeling of sadness is what hurts the most. Nobody likes to feel sad. People get sad over things they cannot control.

I am sad.
Human beings are always dying.
Why am I not inherently sad, then?
I have not laid eyes on all who have died. If I were to see every face of every person to die, that would make me habitually depressed.

Death is a huge change. You have to figure out how to live your life without that person in it... which is frustrating.

I don't know how to resolve this feeling of sorrow and death... says the girl who has "Life is a Fiction" on her blog...

It's just hard to let go. I thought I had been able to convince myself death is 'okay.'
Death rolls around,
and it hits me like lightning.

This certain situation will pass in a bit. I just don't want to know what I will be like when something more serious rolls around.




This was horribly written.
It's all in my head, but it can't get out.


Hej hej,

Any

Melting under ice.

Young men
in crop tops
running shorts
and leg warmers.


What haven't we seen done today?

Enough.
That is what we haven't seen.

My legs turned black under the sun today. I had to return inside after my neck couldn't bear perspiring onto the pillow any longer. I sit inside, melting under ice- not used to this. It isn't as hot as it could be. The day is dying, the air is cooling, and maybe I will feel better in a few minutes. Maybe a cold bath is in order?
So much to do.
To unpack.

What a boring, tedious chore.
I am leaving this place in two weeks.
I am beginning to feel I live out of suitcases.
If only I could manage with one small case.

Maybe I will do that when graduate?

Take a small bag and hop around from town to town.
Sounds like a dream
an impossible reality.

Melting under ice.
This slow moving glacier crushing me- I want to break through. It is going to pass soon. Oh, so very soon. I am waiting. 14 days.

I need to clear my thoughts and make a new entry.

Hej hej,

Any

Damn.

Well.
May was a bust.



Hej hej,

Any

Hot month.

Maybe I can beat March this year.

173
I am on my way to 173.
Hell or high water,
it's where I will be.
I didn't see at the time
173 is perfectly fine.

I will stretch, I will confine,
I will melt, I will freeze-
Oh please, take me to 173.
I will run, I will swim,
I will define my goodness.
Oh please, take me to 173.

173 has the real me.
I want to be the true self
173
173
One seventy-three.

Hej hej,
Any

Never have I ever.

Never have I ever not wanted to smash someone's head in for sniffling.
Never have I ever thought or dreamt about my wedding.
Never have I ever not wanted to be famous.
Never have I ever ridden a bicycle.
Never have I ever read all of the books on my shelves.
Never have I ever truly realized how fortunate I am.
Never have I ever followed through on my major desires.
Never have I ever considered beer my drink of choice.
Never have I ever I wanted to die for something because I care for it so much.
Never have I ever had a full time job.
Never have I ever considered myself to be physically beautiful.
Never have I ever done drugs.
Never have I ever understood why I torture myself with desires and not do anything about it.
Never have I ever caused an avalanche.
Never have I ever written anything I have been completely satisfied with.
Never have I ever read my work in a public forum after the age of 14.
Never have I ever not wished I hated food.
Never have I ever not loved my family.
Well, maybe Kevin.
Never have I ever not thought something was wrong with me.
Never have I ever been brave enough to be committed to step into a new frontier without the aid or approval of my family.
Never have I ever wanted to cry more after writing this.

Hej hej,

Any.

North is better.

I don't understand all of these fruit fly gangs this year.
Isn't it weird at night: you look to the darkness of the East, but can still see the lightness in the West.

It still hasn't hit me.
I will be gone for a month.
In another country.

It will change me, but will I change for it?

A wonderful conversation- very brief- was sparked this early morn'. I have known this person for close to 6 years- we have had our ups and downs, but we are the closest we have been right now.

I said to her, "You know- it's so interesting to see how much people change when they go to college. I don't feel like I have done anything."

She said, "Don't feel like that. You knew who you were in high school, and you shouldn't feel obligated to have a dramatic change."

Strong statements.
Did I really know who I was 5 years ago?
Well. I was a water polo and swim jock addicted to pop punk.
4 years ago?
I didn't like water polo as much and liked swim much more and listened to screamo. AP magazine was my bible.
3 years ago?
I hated most of the people on the water polo team and only did it to stay in shape for swim. Fuck that pop punk and screamo shit. I loved electro.
2 years ago?
I worked a part time job at Baskin Robbins, used my tip money to buy NME weekly (my new bible, fuck Alternative Press). I only did water polo so it would look 'consistent' on my college transcripts. I hated everyone I knew at school. I cried. And cried. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want to read. I didn't want to do a damn thing.
1 year ago?
I loved rowing. That was my life. Didn't really stay in the loop with current events or new music.
And now?
Well- I am more confused than ever. I look back, and there isn't a damn thing that sticks out in my mind and makes me think, "You really know yourself, Any."

I really don't know who I am, who I want to be. There is this idealized visual in my mind and I don't know how to get to it.

Why the fuck am I griping about this shit here?
Good god.

TMI TMI TMI

Maybe I am bitter over the current events that have occurred over the last few months.
My prediction was partially true.

TOO BAD IT WASN'T PERTAINING TO ME.

nix
nix
nix
stop thinking about that-
don't let it consume you

i can't

yes you can

no i cannot

shut the hell up.
you can.

Hej hej,

Any

I went to an open mic night.

I didn't read. I sat. I sat in a big comfy chair.
Sank into it. And stared at the ceiling. Maybe laughed. Maybe flinched.
For the most part it was terrible.
But, it was an experience.
A new way I acquired inside jokes with friends. "Cops, cops, cops!" we yelled all the way home. "George, I think we're fucked up!"
He looked like charlie Bartlett. He really, truly, did. Except, not as cute of course.
Twisted poetry. I think he was a captive of a cult as a young child.
Another Capricorn was there. They were drunk. It was unlike them to read, and sing, and be themselves. How enlightening/endearing. Maybe next time I will come more prepared.
Maybe I will read.
Maybe I won't.
Probably not.
I'm a wuss. And I suck. And I don't make much sense.

Hej hej,

Any

I thought I felt a spark.

Instead, I had a fire in my head. My mind began to melt. I didn't know what to do.
The burning inside of me was so much, it made me blind.
All I could do was keep going.
All I wanted to do was lay my head down. Lay my head on the table and let it smolder. Let it die. Let it turn to ash.
But I had to keep going.
And promised to.
But my promises can be lies in overpriced Martha Stewart suggested gift-wrap. Promising sounding promises.
So, should I keep going?
Or give in and let the fire die?

Die, fire, die.

Hej hej,

Any

This world. I don't even.

Very informal.
As usual.


I saw an amazing(ly written) play last evening. It is Brian Friel's "Translations." The acting, not so good. The play itself- very powerful and moving.

I didn't come here to write about the play, though. Of course not. It would be very uncharacteristic of me.

I wanted to write about my bus ride home.
I noticed a very handsome fellow sitting on the back of the bus with two of his friends, engaging in what I would imagine a very silly conversation. There were moments where he would stand up at stops, spread his arms out wide and flail them like a madman, jump around the seats. From what I could tell, he was a very animated fellow.
He wore a light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled half way up his arms and khaki pants- I didn't note anything else as I was greatly concentrated on his actions.

It was two stops until I had to get off, and he exited with his friends right in front of the QFC by Urban on Broadway. I caught a clear glimpse at his face- his lovely features. The most vivid were his amazing blue eyes, which immediately triggered a memory.

I had seen him before.

"I have to tell you something at the next stop," I yelped as he and his pals exited the bus.

"The very next?" my friend quizzed me.

"He is the guy I saw on the lightrail from the airport back in to town after Spring Break!"

He was, indeed. I never thought I would see him again. I figured, Seattle is fairly heavily populated, what were the odds I would see him again? I have butterflies recalling it.

"I guess I will be riding this bus aimlessly for the rest of my days in Seattle," I mumbled.

"Just to stalk him and see him again?"

"Hey! I will talk to him if I see him again. I will! Three times means the cosmos are pulling us together."

Ah.
But, would I? Would I really have the guts to say anything to him?



The sad reality is I probably wouldn't. You know how I am. He'll no longer be that nameless man from the Lightrail that I have happened to see twice on public transportation in my life. Maybe that is all he is good for: Another fantasy for me to forever remember.

Hej hej,

Any

P.S. Every damn post on this blog is the same. What a writer I am.

Foolish.

Fuck being sick.


Now I just want to die.
I haven't accomplished a damn thing. Not a damn thing. I recall all of the opportunities in my life where I was asked to participate or apply for something, and I always thought:

Too much time
I'm not going to get it
They aren't going to like me

And guess what?
It is because I don't like hearing the bad news of, "No- you're not what we are looking for," or "Sorry, but we will keep you in mind."
And I am a fool. A god damn fool for all of the shit I have passed up.

I could probably be a prominent writer.

Instead I am sitting in my room with the blinds down and tears rolling down my cheeks.

It's too late.

I'm going nowhere. And I hate myself for being so foolish.

Hej hej,

Any

Leave the world behind.

My eyes are going to drop out of their sockets.
My skin is going to melt away like candlewax.

I have been trying to make myself sick for over a week. It hasn't been going so well, as I am sick in a totally different context. So, my current illness is prohibiting me to make myself sick in the way I want to be. Am I not trying hard enough?

I just have so much,
and you-

you are worth being sick over.
Why can't I stop being sick of myself and start being sick over you?

Every fucking time I see you, I want to be sick. Sick forever. Sick so you can like me more, sick so I can like you more.
I'm not even worth it.

You know what?
I start tomorrow. I will be sick for you, only you.

God, help me. I know this decision is worth it.

I have decided. It will be.

Hej hej,

Any

Babel.

I fell in love with a boy whose words I never understood.
I sat in my mother's living room with my computer plugged in to the modem at midnight in late March. My eyes were tired from the day, but I couldn't sleep. So, I decided to look through this boys life. I found his life several months ago, and I forget about it for a few weeks. I figured I would catch up and see what he was up to, so I went through the last month recorded. Beautiful accounts, from what I saw. I never knew what he was writing- it was an arrangement of letters I could never make out. I didn't even know his name. It took me a while when I first found his life to find out who he actually was.

When I was certain he was who he was (I thought it couldn't have been him, as he was present in too many of the photographs... but it turned out to be who I thought it was), I almost felt like I was starting to understand what was going on in his life more. I was no longer intimidated with the strange script on his page.

I called him David.
I never knew his real name, but he looked like he could be a David.

The more I looked at the words, I realized what language it was. I daren't use google translate, in fear of relying on it to interpret what David was all about. Instead, I kept him and all of his friends strictly visuals.

You know me and my fascination of fantasy people.

It is so strange to think David actually exists. He lives and breathes on this planet. And I only know him by the photographs that he posts. He doesn't even know that I look at them. Isn't that creepy? So extremely creepy. The price he pays publicizing his photographs. I bet he doesn't realize there is someone thousands of miles away from where he lives creating a storyline in their crazy little noggin, thinking he lives a tragically ornate life, the desperate wishes every American youth wishes to experience on a Saturday.

I never thought I would fall in love with David's pictures. David's life.
I think I fell in love with him because I wanted to be him.
Or one of those beautiful girls that he knew. Oh, to witness that divinity in the flesh would be heaven.

Instead, he would forever remain a 1081px × 1600px piece of pixelated beauty.

I said my prayers, ironically listened to "Young Adult Friction" by Pains of Being Pure at Heart," rubbed my eyes, and closed my computer. I turned off the modem and went to bed.

Only to have dreams about having long, luscious locks and an Irish beau at my side.

Hej hej,

Any

A nice friend reminded me of something.

He was right. Thinking about the little things, like getting dressed in the morning, to the big things, such as our mere existence, is crazy.

Why do we do the things we do? Why do we have to exist?

I began to imagine myself step out my front door, naked. I know how the world react- appalled, flabbergasted that I would go against the social construct of being clothed. The thing is, the only thing that would matter would be what I would be thinking. Of course, I wouldn't think I was going mad, because I would just be thinking of this 'philosophical' blog post that I am typing out right now. And, so many would try to ship me off to a mental institution after I explain to them that I 'don't care about having to wear clothes in public,' or the fact that I don't care if my hair is washed and well kempt. I don't care if I want to yell at the top of my lungs out of my window, or dance at a bus stop.

WHY DO WE WORRY?
WHY DO WE ALWAYS HAVE TO CAUTION OURSELVES?

I still don't like myself. Not one bit. In fact, even after this liberating discovering of not having to care what external factors influence me, I internally still hate myself. This is because the external factors dug their needles into my skin when I was young. They injected me with their poisonous thoughts, and they handed me filth. I took that filth, crushed it into a fine powder, and breathed it in. I licked it off of my lips, off of my fingers, and it all has consumed me. It has poisoned the way that I think of myself.

This is what happens. You let so many things trouble you, that you let them become a part of you.

I look back at the photos of me I middle school. I was beautiful. I didn't need to look better, I looked damn good then. Even in high school. And now, because I inhaled all of those dirty, dirty comments people fed to me, I am packing them on. Every inch of me is a word they have said to me. And I can't let it go. The more they pressure me, the more I grow. I am growing so much, and I now hate myself for letting this happen to me. I need to have blinders on. I can't listen to anyone anymore tell me how I should be.

I need to take the control into my own hands.
I am tired of hating myself.

Don't you dare say anything encouraging.
Don't tell me I am fine the way I am.

Your words don't mean a damn thing to me anymore.
You have made me the way I am:

A 5'10" piece of hatred.
Shut up.

Hej hej,

Any

A raise of hands.

Who reads this blog, and why? How did you find it? Why do you continue to read this?

If you could answer, that would be lovely.

Hej hej,

Any

Candystripe Straw.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

I write this in the basement, staring straight into my cup with a candystripe straw.

It is so weird to think of the things we see as two-dimensional. Like, everything we see is 2-D. Don't look puzzled. The only thing that makes us trick our minds to think that what we see is 3-D is the fact that our sensors for feeling can usually grasp/touch whatever is ahead of us.

And the fact that we are told/brainwashed during our school learning that we live in a 3-D world... and that the particles that make us... us... are 3-D as well. What the hell is this bullshit?

Now I am starting to believe what I see is what I can see. We have 2-D vision and 3-D touching-abilities, that is that. Paintings are what we see all of the time... constantly in motion, nothing is ever still.
I think even a painting can move. There is something in me that is convinced that nothing is the same as it was 23 seconds ago.

Things are always turning into something different- not necessarily older (as the thing of time is arbitrary and tacky... I hate the concept of time, yet time travel fascinates me).

The idea of fantasy's or mind tricks fascinate me. According to Aristotle, the only way that we can see illusions are if the images are drawn out from memory. We cannot have nightmares or see hallucinations without the ability to draw back on something we have seen before.

Now, how does this explain mythical creatures? How can one possibly dream of a mythical creature? I am certain I have had dreams that have terrified me with creatures I have never seen before. Are they actually hybrids from things we have seen before? Is that why when movies creature Extra Terrestrial beings, they still have figures like a human?

I have tried, so many times, to imagine living in an entirely different world with an entirely new set of senses. I could not think of anything other than the five that we have right now, could not think of anything that was remotely feasible because I cannot think of anything outside of what I already know.

So, how is it that a man can think of something no woman or man has ever thought before?

I disagree with this. I am starting to believe we have all thought the same thing in our life before, it is whether we have brought it to the front of our conscience or not... and who has the chance to publish the thought first to be claimed the ultimate thinker of the 'genius' thing they thought of all 'by themselves.' Hmm- phooey.

I really do enjoy Foucault's writings on Bentham's Panopticon, and how that structure is similar to how we all live censored lives, but doesn't everyone notice this as they get older?

"Man was born free, and everywhere he is in chains,"-- very famous opening line from Rousseau.

Well, as I said before, doesn't everyone notice this? How we are all censored? I mean, especially during our teenage years, when our parents begin to have a tighter grip on us (or when we start to realize that our guardians are holding us in a headlock)! Those who have had the courage to stand up to their oppressive governments, they know they are being over-censored, because they are oppressed. Why is it such a big deal to credit certain people with certain 'ideas?'

So that we can quote them?

I am starting to feel that even quoting is starting to be the lamest thing ever (despite the fact that I have quoted Aristotle and Rousseau directly in this post so far)- it isn't intellectual to quote someone, it's just an easy way to formulate something you have thought about and the author has been able to say the words eloquently enough for you to reiterate them...

We have all thought the same things... some have articulated the thoughts better than the others...

Now I am a looney.

I am really straying away from my final philosophy paper. I am trying to figure out what I am going to do, but I am basically going to be talking about this in a nutshell. The way that we perceive, how appearances and understanding function in human beings, according to Aristotle.

It is some pretty mediocre stuff, but it is still interesting, nevertheless. I hope this can hopefully spark some ideas for my final piece of crap. I want to push my limits on what I need to write for this paper. It doesn't have to be the best thing that I have written (I vouch that it will not be!) but it certainly has to be interesting enough to read.

Hej hej,

Any

Oh simple thing- where have you gone?

This week. This goddamn fucking week. It doesn't feel like a burden, either. It feels like it is going to stretch out to be the longest week of all weeks this year so far. I have $20.05 to live off until Thursday. I will make it, and I will be a champ.
I went to bed last night at 10:30 as my body was telling me it was what it needed to do. I tried to fight it, but I closed my computer and caved in to a deep sleep. I did not rise until 8 this morning, and I still feel fatigued. Maybe all of the anxieties/excitement of going home is getting way over my head? I have never been so excited about going home ever since I have moved to college. I know that it is going to be a bundle of sun and time to read things that are not required...

I am editing a paper right now, and I almost find editing papers more exhausting than writing them. You would think there were only so many ways that you could rearrange words to make them sound coherent.
Bah.
Well, you are right when there are only so many ways... but it always turns out to be more ways than you could ever fathom. So, you pass your writings to multiple people in hopes of gaining multiple perspectives...
And when you compile the edits from that draft, you can continue to edit that again.

Editing is a gruesome, endless cycle.

Writings can always be improved. It is sickening to know that there will never be an ideal paper written (except in Plato's goddamn World of Forms. Suck it, Plato).

Speaking of, I have to decide very soon if I am going to write my final philosophy on Aristotle, Kant, or Nietzsche... Nietzsche sounds like a sound choice about now.

My eyes are drooping. I think they are doing this to me so that I do not have time to work. But, I must. I must finish. I am not stressed about this right now because I know that it will get done.

Hej hej,

Any

To all of the party rookies.

Dear children applying to colleges:

You are a novice at partying. Do no deny this, but after the hot mess of an evening I witnessed, AKA March 12, 2010, I am most definitely inclined to write this blog post about all of the no-no's that I witnessed that evening. Partying is nothing like it is in the movies, it is far from that iconic (ironic) Asher Roth song. It will never be anything like you saw on The Cobrasnake (if anyone even still looks on that site at all... he is shooting at pre-teen b-day parties now, apparently), parties will never be like a Ke$ha song. In fact, parties have undeclared rules. I would like to provide you with some words of wisdom before you go on and make a fool of yourself your first year of college. You do not want to cross anyone who throws parties, you will suffer the consequences.

Rule #1: There is no such thing as "Free Beer"
You heard me right. This is just untrue. Do not assume that you can walk into a house without money or your own 6 pack to have a good time. Always carry around $10 if you decide to go out. That way, you can have a little booze, and maybe a few extra bucks in case if you have a hankering for a Fourth Meal at Taco Bell.
The person hosting the party will find out that you are raiding their pantry, and they will seek revenge on you. Oh, you know,like maybe find your keys and hide them in the cushions of the couch so that you spend a half hour trying to find them when you want to leave...

Rule #2: Just because someone gives you access to their drinks doesn't mean your friend can have some, too.
This is the sign of the ultimate dipshit. It's cool you are making a new friend with someone nice enough to offer you one of their Blue Moon's, but that does not mean that you can go back and take another one for your friend Taylor. "Hey, want a beer?" never translates to, "My box of booze is free reign- take as many as you would like!" Think about it, if you were the one offering a beer, wouldn't you be ticked off if the person you offered was overmooching after talking to you for less than ten minutes? That's what I thought.

Rule #3: Know your limits
Puking on the steps of the front porch is never classy. You don't want to be that kid who can't make it out of the door without having your friend sling you over their shoulder so that you can make it home- that is just embarrassing on your behalf. Always start out slow, you don't have to show for anything just because you can drink 10 beers in two hours (ouch!).

Rule #4: Do not be a scavenger
I am unfortunately guilty of this. A scavenger is someone who picks up random cans or cups, and tries to drink any of the remaining drops. Hey! There might be a little bit of a treat left over! This not only looks unfortunate to the outside observer, but this is how The Herp, Swine Flu, and Mono spread. Well, aside from rando-makeout-sesh's... Boy, am I lucky to have not contracted anything from that really sad night...

Rule #5: Always know where your friends are
Don't get left behind. It is just plain sad to see when a party is cleared out, and there is the lone soul sitting on a couch, drunk out of their mind, wailing, "Rachel is in the bathroom! I am waiting for her to come out!" only to hear someone say, Shit- Rachel left an hour ago!


That is all I have to say for now. I will update with anything new after the next shit storm I attend.

Hej hej,

Any

It's okay.

It's not a big deal.
It's not like you know my deepest, darkest feelings.
Like, how I have wanted to die for being so fat.
Like, how I have cried for feeling unloved and lonely.
Like, how I have admitted to you that I have internet friends.
You have told me that you are there for me whenever I need you.
You have told me that I am such a good friend to you.
You betcha, I am.
It's not a big deal.
It's not like we have really hung out before.
Think about it. We really don't.
We never really did.
But we sure know a lot about each other.
It's okay.
It's not a big deal.

I'll see you never.

Being you want it that way.
Flake.


Hej hej,

Any

It's [not] always sunny in Seattle

It is a glorious day in Seattle. Absolute sunshine.

My nose is plugged.
My head is inflated.
My throat is being scraped with sandpaper.

I feel like a champ. Thank god I don't have the chills anymore.

Looks like it was just a bunch of anxiety catching up with me.

Hej hej,

Any

Found.

Found this puppy hiding in a notebook-

Hello there-
Back of a once
chocolate wrapper
turned letter.
If only I had the
emotions to feel
and realize this
illusion.
To write something
great (whatever
great is in this
illusion).
Let go?
Let it be?
Let it live?
Let it transcend?
Who knows?
Not I-
But being.

Hej hej,

Any

This certainly isn't the time.

I should be editing my pieces for the newspaper right now. But, again, even though I am in the time crunch, I can't bring myself to find the appropriate words/ have what they are looking for. Writing for a newspaper was not as easy as I had imagined it was going to be. Thank Moses we are only a weekly newspaper. If it were any more than that, oh my wordywords, I don't know what would be going on for me.

Anyway.

I am actually doing things with my life now. Aside from crew. It feels good to not being a slave to something. Though I kinda wish I was a slave to a job so that I had money.

I am kinda sick of wanting to listen to something fresh but I don't want to search for fresh beats. I need to first off stop listening to the Disney kids. Though that is impossible because there are hundreds of thousands of hours of research put into those songs they release and they formulate the perfect songs so that you like them and that you become addicted to listening to them, over and over and over again until your roommate wants to kill you and yell, "CUT THAT SHIT OUT, GOD DAMN!"
Though, dearest roommate hasn't said that. But I am sure other roommates in the world have said that. I am actually sure of it.

Hmm. I realized that I use my left hand more than my right hand when it comes to typing. A lot of the common letters are arranged on the left side of the keyboard... curious... curious indeed. I think that is weird, being that this is a completely right handed world, yet we have to train ourselves to use the left hand to a crazy level if we want to type well. Ah- you never noticed this before. Now, whenever you type you will then think your left hand is getting a lot more tired (or that your right hand is growing bored due to the lack of activity that is called for it).


TTFN- I must finish this shit up. Busy morning.

Hej hej,

Any

A lost letter to a lost friend

We have now re-connected in an odd, odd way. Hopefully we'll keep in touch some other way than what we are currently doing right now. Here is a letter that I never mailed out several months ago:

11 November, 2009

Dearest T-----r,

I write this letter from the Starbucks across from B--------- Hall- no drink at my side, as I am unable to afford even a tall drip coffee. I am relying heavily on my Bon A---- meal plan to get me by until Christmas. It's a little wet outside today- no crazy flood-rain. Just a sprinkle here or there. It's sad out there- it wants you to come back and greet the city with open arms and sunshine.

So- I should have written to you sooner. But, you're lucky I am writing to you at all. See, I am a woman filled with a lot of false promises, smiles, charm, sass, and glitter. Yes, glitter. Almost as much as Paddy Wolf! Anyway- about the false promises, it is true. I told many friends that I would write them last year, and I never followed through on this vow to keep in touch. You are the first person that I have written to that is not a family member... are you feeling special? Now I am just getting cocky- I really need to stop that...

I have not attended one concert since being here in S------. It's been a quiet Fall Quarter. But, I am loving every minute of it up here. Coffee shops are my new form of entertainment. I haven't met my prince charming (though I have witnessed many show stoppers) or written anything truly inspiring ( I am a failure of a writing major). these are things that I am adamant about accomplishing this year (that sentence sounds terribly awkward...).

One of these days... wait- where was I going with this? I feel like this letter is awfully organized. I am going to now fill it with questions for you to answer so that I can expect a letter back from you (woohoo! Everyone loves to get mail).

So: How are you? Right this moment- cold? Happy? Inspired? Have you read nything xceptionally interesting lately? Written any poems that blew your heart and mind? Are you getting enough sleep? Is your family doing well? Any television shows I should become addicted to over Christmas Break? Are you going anywhere interesting for your Winter Break?

Oh, boy- I have provided a lot of questions- pardon me... well, I am genuinely interested to hear back from you!

-------

Obviously not, since I never mailed them the letter. Well- there you go- I am sending them their many months due letter, and allowing all 2 billion internet users to read.

Hej hej,

Any

Way to unstart the New Year (another pure confession).

I promised myself to start off my New Year right. Well, I haven't. I am ill. Gluttonous. I feel absolutely sickened with myself- licking the chocolate from the corners of my mouth... washing it down with a glass of Ovaltine. Wrong. So wrong. I can't say no- why can't I say no? Because it is delicious? Because I am afraid I won't be able to experience the sweetness ever again? I recently read an article that a friend of mine shared on her blog, and it said to stop being a procrastinator of pleasure. Well, I embraced those words. They are going to be my words to think about for the next decade...
but this whole eating thing- eating is supposed to be a pleasure. I find it awful that by me eating, I take no pleasure in the activity. I am constantly grazing. Right now I feel like I should be doubled over with my face in the toilet. I have consumed more chocolate than a poor child in a third world will ever have in their lifetime (if they are lucky) in one day. The more I mull over this, the more I want to puke, the more I feel upset with my decisions. And I hope I vomit because I deserve it.

Now it won't happen, and I'll have to sleep away my tummy ache.

I know I can do it. I know I can find a pleasure in not over- what would I call it? It isn't indulging. Indulging is a pleasant word, and with the state I am always in, it is never an indulgence. It is a living misery. I think this is an internal cry for help.

For those that know me, I don't know how you are going to take this, but bear with me. This addiction is bad. I need slaps on a wrist. I am like a drug user. Don't be afraid to tell me no. Help. I want help so bad- I want the rest of this year to feel much better than I do now.

I have to nurse my stomach ache.

Hej hej,

Any