I'm back! I'm back! As if anyone cares, or is reading this. But oh, the cartharsis I have been denied...a sorely trying time, this has been. Oh, the pain, the pain. My eyes, my eyes. You get the picture, my little wee lambkins.
I have been living with a crazy woman since leaving the crazy parental abode for over a month now. This situation has become so fucking nuts that I am now going to move in with the only fucking sane person I know, a lovely friend who has less issues than the current friend. The current friend has turned out to be one of the more trying souls I have ever met, and I only hope that when I tell her I am moving on to that great new apartment in the 'burbs that she doesn't cut my stuffed animal to shreds. I have a feeling she might -- you know, the whole "Single White Female" thing? She reminds me of Jennifer Jason Leigh, psychotically enough. So, I fear that I cannot win for losing, or for winning, or something like that. I am just ready to GO, people! To go!
In other news, I still think of the blue-eyed doctor. I know, it's like trying to remove a barnacle, and everyone is screaming for you to do so, but you just can't. I am also hungry and ready to go home and collapse, home being a relative sort of term. Tomorrow I have my volunteer shift, and then hopefully I pack up all my shit and move in with my friend permanently. This in-between trying to find work/cash/another place to stay. I've basically been homeless for a long time, my parents' place not counting for much other than sheer pain. So I'm ready for my own abode, that's for damned sure.
So, if you know of a big Broadway show in the sky...or just anywhere...let me know. I can live underneath the theater like the Phantom, and just collect musical tributes for my rent. Or something like that.
Until we meet again, my sweets.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Friday, April 13, 2007
Goodbye, World, Hello, Kitty
I've been thinking lately of existential angst and the incredible pretentiousness of the academic world. I've decided that, to write a really good thesis, you should use expressions like "meta irony", or, even better "existential irony", or finally, "ironically meta", which could confuse people, but then again, everyone's pretty much confused. Whobah!
I am proud to say I have been made a commentor on the gawker.com website. Yes, life is full of simple pleasures, and of course, being gawker.com, I may be "executed" any day now. Such is the joy of anything originating from the evil competitive realm of NYC. Glad I don't live there, folks! All 0.3 of you.
I am still at work on my book. It's getting way down to the wire and I'm very pleased. I also found out that the MSW program I applied to is basically fucking evil, as they stated in their handbook that they had "rolling admissions" and then it turns out my application was just too far past the deadline. I wrote the admissions director a concise email explicating my confusion; I will see what happens.
I am hoping for some actual live money soon, which I have been in the process of securing. Legally; have no fear! I'm tired of going out with friends and watching as they order creme brulle and I ask for tap water or a cup of coffee. They are nice, they share, they offer to pay, but then I just feel worse if I accept, like they're secretly resentful and tabulating it all in a little black book of sorts. The anti black book of dating.
Ah yes, I have decided to let go (at last, at last) the blue-eyed doctor who has made my life such a veritable heaven/hell. I will never see him again. And so it goes. But hey, I might find an agent!
This library is full of screaming children. Such agony, the screaming children. Put me in, that is.
I am very tired. I bid you a fond "adieu".
I am proud to say I have been made a commentor on the gawker.com website. Yes, life is full of simple pleasures, and of course, being gawker.com, I may be "executed" any day now. Such is the joy of anything originating from the evil competitive realm of NYC. Glad I don't live there, folks! All 0.3 of you.
I am still at work on my book. It's getting way down to the wire and I'm very pleased. I also found out that the MSW program I applied to is basically fucking evil, as they stated in their handbook that they had "rolling admissions" and then it turns out my application was just too far past the deadline. I wrote the admissions director a concise email explicating my confusion; I will see what happens.
I am hoping for some actual live money soon, which I have been in the process of securing. Legally; have no fear! I'm tired of going out with friends and watching as they order creme brulle and I ask for tap water or a cup of coffee. They are nice, they share, they offer to pay, but then I just feel worse if I accept, like they're secretly resentful and tabulating it all in a little black book of sorts. The anti black book of dating.
Ah yes, I have decided to let go (at last, at last) the blue-eyed doctor who has made my life such a veritable heaven/hell. I will never see him again. And so it goes. But hey, I might find an agent!
This library is full of screaming children. Such agony, the screaming children. Put me in, that is.
I am very tired. I bid you a fond "adieu".
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Suri Cruise, Trashy Tabloids, the Group Factor
Why the butler has been the sad, wretched, pathetic scapegoat of the literary world is beyond my comprehension, but I'm just a stupid Yank. If I have any international fans, you might want to know that. At this point I write merely for some extraterrestrial out in space, who thinks I'm funnier than Groucho Marx and our current administration. Put together! Yeah, yeah, I know, you wish you were dead, too.
Speaking of wishing I was dead, last night I went to a writers group meeting. I have, as of late, been attending these types of things. I had one really lovely like poetry workshop which ended (sniff, sigh, alas and alas), and I attended a few meetings at the local library. Which appeared to be attended mostly by competitive 40-something women who looked at me like I was about to sleep with their husbands. Why are women so evil? Don't ask me, but I slap my feminist credentials squarely in the face and bow down to the inescapable conclusion that women are often nasty witches towards other women. Sue me, please, I beg of you.
Actually, don't, I'm dead broke. Yet not dead yet, ha, ha, ha! Anyway, I suffer from acute social anxiety, so sitting in a room with a bunch of people I don't know is tantamount to having my fucking teeth pulled with a pair of rusty pliers. I also dread the "What do you do for a living?" question, as I am only volunteering at the moment. Americans seem like needy children who have been brainwashed into thinking that they are their jobs, and that the only topics of interest are work, vacations, and taxes. Maybe I'll move to Europe! Yes, what a nice thought. Anyway, the only question anyone asks you in this country is what you do for a living, and "starving broke depressed artist" isn't exactly the reply they're looking for. How can you love and loathe a country simultaneously? Anyway, Europe has been a refuge for beleagured artists for lo, these many years, so it would be rather nice. Me abroad, me on the continent, me Jane, you expatriate, tee!
On the continent might not be the expression I'm looking for, so see paragraph one. Anyway, it's Murphy's Law that if you are shy and socially anxious that someone has the bright idea of going around the room so you can answer their tedious questions. I prefer other methods, like skywriting things, but that's OK. I was first, and immediately felt like someone was shining a bright light down my throat. It's also against the law to be an INTROVERT in America! God forbid. So, I'm pissy for a change.
To cheer myself up, maybe I'll get a copy of the National Enquirer or US and read about how Tom Cruise is allegedly holding Katie Holmes hostage. What happened to poor Katie, whom I have some weird affection for, is anyone's guess. She always seemed like a swell little trouper on "Dawson's Creek" (a.k.a. Crack), but now she's married to a man who needs a camera pointed on him 24-7. I fear for Suri's fragile psyche! At least she's not Jolie, who will end up adopting orphans from every country on the planet until she is forced to open up her own orphanage. She'll end up with 17 kids, and Brad Pitt will flee into the night. Maybe he can recscue Holmes on the way back to wherever he came from (MO?)
I will go now, and wish you well.
Speaking of wishing I was dead, last night I went to a writers group meeting. I have, as of late, been attending these types of things. I had one really lovely like poetry workshop which ended (sniff, sigh, alas and alas), and I attended a few meetings at the local library. Which appeared to be attended mostly by competitive 40-something women who looked at me like I was about to sleep with their husbands. Why are women so evil? Don't ask me, but I slap my feminist credentials squarely in the face and bow down to the inescapable conclusion that women are often nasty witches towards other women. Sue me, please, I beg of you.
Actually, don't, I'm dead broke. Yet not dead yet, ha, ha, ha! Anyway, I suffer from acute social anxiety, so sitting in a room with a bunch of people I don't know is tantamount to having my fucking teeth pulled with a pair of rusty pliers. I also dread the "What do you do for a living?" question, as I am only volunteering at the moment. Americans seem like needy children who have been brainwashed into thinking that they are their jobs, and that the only topics of interest are work, vacations, and taxes. Maybe I'll move to Europe! Yes, what a nice thought. Anyway, the only question anyone asks you in this country is what you do for a living, and "starving broke depressed artist" isn't exactly the reply they're looking for. How can you love and loathe a country simultaneously? Anyway, Europe has been a refuge for beleagured artists for lo, these many years, so it would be rather nice. Me abroad, me on the continent, me Jane, you expatriate, tee!
On the continent might not be the expression I'm looking for, so see paragraph one. Anyway, it's Murphy's Law that if you are shy and socially anxious that someone has the bright idea of going around the room so you can answer their tedious questions. I prefer other methods, like skywriting things, but that's OK. I was first, and immediately felt like someone was shining a bright light down my throat. It's also against the law to be an INTROVERT in America! God forbid. So, I'm pissy for a change.
To cheer myself up, maybe I'll get a copy of the National Enquirer or US and read about how Tom Cruise is allegedly holding Katie Holmes hostage. What happened to poor Katie, whom I have some weird affection for, is anyone's guess. She always seemed like a swell little trouper on "Dawson's Creek" (a.k.a. Crack), but now she's married to a man who needs a camera pointed on him 24-7. I fear for Suri's fragile psyche! At least she's not Jolie, who will end up adopting orphans from every country on the planet until she is forced to open up her own orphanage. She'll end up with 17 kids, and Brad Pitt will flee into the night. Maybe he can recscue Holmes on the way back to wherever he came from (MO?)
I will go now, and wish you well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
