She's like jellyroll, like sculpture

Voice Post

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 04:54:33 GMT

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 01:56:43 GMT

So, uh, who wants to take my Precalc final for me?

You know, I shouldn't even be worried about this. I'm not a Math Person, exactly - I'm a little too inclined toward language for that to be purely true - but I love math, and I'm good at it. What problems I've had in math classes are largely the problems I've had in all of my other classes: namely, with motivation and focus (because, as I've had confirmed this year, my brain is made of ADD), magnified by the cumulative nature of the material. I'm a clumsy bullshitter, much to my dismay, but what I can't bullshit in an English class I've probably read about somewhere; math doesn't quite work that way.

But, again, that's not the problem here. The ADD is within managable levels thanks to counseling and Taking Pills for Breakfast, and I understand the math. I understood it when I did it in high school (no thanks to the teacher, sadly; fellow Roosevelt alumni can probably deduce who it was), and I understand it now. I understand it even better now, in fact, because between my once-sloppy algebra falling into place and the myriad ways we've played with the concepts in class, I finally feel like I grok what we're doing, rather than just knowing how to regurgitate it. I'm enjoying it so much that I registered for 142 next quarter, and was profoundly disappointed when I realized I couldn't take it.

I'm on track to get an A in math for the first time since my freshman year in high school. I've never gotten less than an A on anything in this class, I have notes and a study guide, and I don't get test anxiety. Everything should be fine, right? Right?

WRONG. You see, dear readers, I am here to tell you that I sat down at my very favorite library carrel with my practice final and my now-ragged notebook (which, amusingly, is one I recycled from high school, much like I'm doing with this class; the first ten-or-so pages are a mishmash of journalism notes, kanji practice, explanations of what we're covering right now in math, and review for a chem final), chomping merrily away on my Study Gum, so confident I would kick this thing's ass, as I've been doing all quarter, and then:

WHERE THE ZOMBIE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM? THE ANSWERS I HAVE DO NOT MATCH THE ANSWERS IN MY NOTES! HOW HAVE I SUDDENLY FORGOTTEN HOW TO FIND A SLANT ASYMPTOTE (there wasn't one; crisis averted)? WHY DON'T YOU GRAPH THE ABSOLUTE VALUE OF THIS EQUATION IN TERMS OF YOUR FACE?

That's right. I have a math final in fifteen minutes, at a point in my life when far too many things hinge on my grades for all sorts of frustrating reasons, and I have forgotten how to do math.

Did I say fifteen minutes? Make that twelve; the computer decided this would be a fabulous time to let my session expire and LOG ME OUT.

HOMG. *breathes* It's okay! It's okay! I know this shit! I can replace my Study Gum with Test Gum! I'm going to be fabulous! I'm going to leave the library and head over to the Science and Math building (I refuse to call it the SAM building, despite its best attempts, because one, that's the art museum, and two, I hear the name "Sam" and think of copperbadge, whom I doubt would really want his name associated so strongly with math. ANYWAY), and I'm going to line up Cara's calculator and my mechanical pencils and my giant eraser, and get my test sheet and all that glorious blank scratch paper, and I'm going to SHOOT THIS FINAL IN THE FACE and get an A and all will be well.

Really! Because I said so! Oh god.

I love my mommy.

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 09:22:06 GMT

I was reading this when my mother walked through the door.

I try, as a rule, not to greet people with political outrage, especially when I can tell they've had a long day, but I was still reeling from the OMGWTFBBQ of that ad. ("APPARENTLY A LOT OF AMERICANS ARE RACIST." Uh, no shit, and way to derail.)

So I told her about it, and about Rachel Maddow's response, which was suitably brilliant, and she got a funny look on her face. "Do you have any friends on Facebook who just post total right-wing rhetoric all the time?"

Apparently she's friended an ex-boyfriend of hers from high school, who updates his status every few minutes with your standard ~~Teabagger~~ Tea Party fare - or, as Mom put it, "Clearly someone's been drinking the Limbaugh juice." He repeatedly refers to those who disagree with him as "asshats."

Her response, via her own status: "I believe in social justice, clean air, civil rights, and compassion for the downtrodden. Apparently that makes me an asshat. Nice."

We had some fun with that one.

MOM: Okay, I have to go be an asshat somewhere else.
FERN: See ya, asshat!
MOM: Can you lock the door behind me?
FERN: Sure, asshat!

One minute later:

MOM: This asshat forgot her glasses.
FERN: You mean your GLASSHATS?

Yes.

NICE, NICE, VERY NICE.

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 06:52:13 GMT

1. FACT: I AM BEING EATEN ALIVE BY PAPERS.

2. I JUST TRIED TO CITE THAT IN MLA FORMAT.

3. I THEN REALIZED I SHOULDN'T DO THAT - NOT BECAUSE THIS IS A BLOG ENTRY, RATHER THAN AN ACADEMIC PAPER, BUT BECAUSE I CANNOT CITE IT AS A FACT BECAUSE I AM NOT LITERALLY BEING EATEN ALIVE BY PAPERS.

4. I THEN HAD A FLASHBACK TO MY 10TH GRADE AMERICAN LIT CLASS, AND MY SOUL DIED A LITTLE MORE INSIDE, BECAUSE THOSE WERE BAD TIMES.

5. SERIOUSLY, YOUR MOM IS A BIASED HISTORICAL TEXT AS;LDKFJDLS;KFJSL;DKFJSDL;KJGSDFL.

Ohhh, school. ♥

GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS.

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 03:16:57 GMT

R-71 PASSED.

Politically, there's a lot to be upset about right now. Even this victory is an imperfect one; it was a close race, it's an "everything-but-marriage" designation, and it's still something we shouldn't have been voting on in the first place.

But it's a step forward. It's kind of a major step forward, actually - for the first time in any U.S. state, we saw a gay-rights measure up for popular vote, and then we APPROVED THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

...;asldkfals;kdjf WE DID IT. ♥

On finishing.

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 01:34:15 GMT

I spent my Halloween sewing feverishly until I was a giant cranky mess on my floor, blurry-eyed from too-thick new contacts and the fabric's grain imprinting itself until, no matter how much I blinked, there was nothing else.

So I went outside, and I was a wild-haired boy-king in fleecy wolf pajamas and a paper crown. It wasn't the magic I wanted it to be, but I was alone and I was proud.

I'm prone to agonizing over my work. Amidst my very human relationship with self-confidence, I've always had enough of an arrogant streak to believe that I can do exceptional things - not all the time, perhaps, but here and there and someday, with effort and thought and the odd luck of the universe. I want to show the world my best, out of respect for whomever has assigned me my task, and out of hope that this here, this could be something special.

Which is to say: I have trouble starting things, and even more trouble finishing them, and while my rational brain can accept that it's common and move on, the rest of me nitpicks and squirms and, too often, gives up entirely. At best, it's a reminder to relax more. At worst, it's a stomachache of bad hair, failing classes, worrying about money, and forgetting to take my meds on time, growing and growing until it's encompassed my entire life and I swear to god I can't do anything anymore, much less anything of merit - and shit, guys, that's heartbreaking.

And it's become something of a theme for me over the past year or so. I've neglected posting because I've been trying to find a way to talk about it - about school, because that's been such a huge component, but also about depression, and ADD, and finally feeling like I'm starting to grow the fuck up, and how melancholy and frightening and oh-shit-exciting that can be.

Except, of course, it's a long story that I want to do justice, and it's one more unfinished thing gnawing at my gut.

So: that story is coming, when I know how to tell it. I know because you're reading this, and I've pushed forward despite having too many clumsy words - and I've done that because on Saturday my hood was too small and my shoulders were a crooked mess and I wanted to cry, but I walked away and became Max, and it was more than good enough.

I'm going to go back and fix the sleeves until they're something lovely, mind you. I just wanted to tell you that I'm learning how to work again.

Also, I just remembered that everything's going to be okay.

KATATSUMURI.

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 06:42:31 GMT

I have a great many important things to say here, and it's been like pulling teeth trying to form them into something remotely articulate, and I really just need to take a break from that momentarily because

I DREAMT THAT LEONARD NIMOY GAVE ME A KITTEN.

I think it was a coda to something longer - I was prone, as a child, to bizarre, grandiose, epic dreams, full of frantic escapes and life-or-death situations. I haven't had many of them over the past few years, but I can feel the very last remnants of what must have been one last night. I wish I could remember it; it was probably disturbing, but it was probably pretty marvelous as well.

It probably didn't have Leonard Nimoy, though.

I was at work - or, rather, some place that wasn't the record store but which I understood to be work - and there was this section in the back, just one counter along the length of the wall, white and spare. Four or five people sat behind it, answering phones or making copies or doing other work in that bland, faceless way that happens when some part of a dream is only there for background noise. I knew they were there, and had some vague sense of why - they were working independent of whomever I worked for, though we were all in one big room - but I didn't fully pay attention until I heard somebody mumble something about working with "information technology," which struck me as hilarious. I think it was the way he said it - awkward, halting, as though it were an unfamiliar phrase, or a terribly dated one. Plus, there were no computers in sight; the only electronics of any kind behind the counter were the 80's-era telephones, and my Dream Logic told me that they weren't using them for tech support.

Nor were they using them for phone sex, though it's just occurred to me that that last sentence would've made a great setup if they had.

So I paused for a second, and I took all of that in, and I came to the only reasonable conclusion, given the circumstances:

"OH YEAH, I FORGOT THAT LEONARD NIMOY WORKS HERE!"

And naturally, this meant that I found myself sitting at my desk, doing busywork of my own, and that when I looked up, Leonard Nimoy was making his way across the room, unmistakably towards me.

Cue starstruck giggling, because DUDE. Spock! Spock is my favorite! I would go so far as to say that Spock is my homeboy! Or not, but. Well. I find him to be rad, and you understand, I'm sure.

So he approached my desk, looked me in the eye, and asked, "May I borrow a kitten from you?"

Which did not help my attempts to pull a straight face, let me tell you.

"A...a kitten? Wha- haha, I mean, absolutely you may borrow a kitten. You may totally borrow a kitten from me, except, um, I don't actually know, because I just remembered that I don't have a kitten..."

I don't remember what his response was. I suspect it involved turning on his heel and getting far, far away from my sputtering (OH, HOW I SPUTTERED).

Maybe not, though, because one scene change later, I was making my way purposefully down the street, bag slung over one shoulder, when I had to stop due to the GIANT EPIPHANY I'd just had. I set my bag on the ground, crouched next to it, and undid the zipper.

Inside, hidden in the tangle of my sweatshirt, was an orange tabby kitten.

The one fraction of my brain that wasn't overcome with "OMG YOU'RE A KITTY!" made, again, the logical connection:

Then I woke up, because clearly I didn't want to give that kitten back.

...Yeah, I have no idea, but it was FUCKING AWESOME, so who am I to question?

BULLETPOINT'D!

Thu, 06 Aug 2009 02:21:57 GMT

-My stuffed white tiger is still faintly green from all the Pillowman bodypaint. I can't bear to wash her off.

-I made it in and out of the DOL in 30 minutes yesterday. What strange fortune is this? I suspect it means I'm going to fail my driving test five times or so once I actually get around to that bit, but we'll see.

-Went into BECU (hooray!) this morning and finally got my bank issues squared away. This means I will soon be able to actually pay people who've been waiting so very patiently. Apologies, world! I am a goober! I am doing my best to make it charming, rather than obnoxious!

-Am unable to decide if I like the new guitar strings or not. It was definitely time to change them, and they don't sound bad, per se, but they're...a bit bright, perhaps? Something's a little off. Oh well, I'll know to try something else next time, assuming I don't fall in love with these eventually. I'm still having plenty of fun playing; in my insistence on keeping this newer, smaller room clutter-free I moved the bigger instruments (guitars, bass, violin) into my closet/a corner of the living room, and I'd nearly forgotten how soothing it is to be able to wake up and grab a guitar. I probably won't make it permanent (I really don't have the space, and in a matter of weeks I'll be back in a dorm anyway), but it's nice for now.

-Perpetual phone-tag with the doctor's office and the pharmacy=epic fail. I'm not trying to sell my Ritalin, guys! I kind of need it. *eyeroll*

-Thanks to the magic of heretofore-undiscovered gift cards, I now own a fifty-dollar bra. It is the most expensive undergarment I have ever worn, and I'm kind of in love with it. I am not a fifty-dollar bra sort of girl; I am the sort of girl who gets yelled at by Oprah for buying five-dollar bras from Ross and Target, so right now I feel like someone should be fanning me and feeding me grapes. I've needed something new for a while now - all of my other bras are either too small or in awful shape (like I said, five dollars! Think missing underwires! Think fraying in confusing places! Think no-longer-remotely-stretchy!). And this one is so fucking awesome, guys. It's basic but elegant, with just the right amount of padding, and it's stupid-comfortable. I'm a little too giddy about it, I think. I kind of want to run to a crowded street corner, pull up my shirt, and scream, "I'M WEARING A NEW BRA!"

-Kind of.

-Birthday on Sunday! My aunt and grandmother are coming from Montana to be here. They are good sorts, so I am pleased with this. I will probably go to Beth's and have shenanigans with people that night; check Facebook soon-ish for my (terrifically casual) invitation.

-Finally: tonight, I rendezvous with lady_rock; tomorrow, I rendezvous with bachlives (and perhaps tathramakan as well, if we are indeed going to the Hiroshima thing?). This is a fabulous way to live.

-Did I mention I'm wearing a new bra?

FUN FACT

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 00:24:21 GMT

Harmony and I are at the Apple Store, molesting the pretty pretty iPod Touches. We are both failing at the tiny screens, but it's something to do while we wait for my Charger Issues to be solved through the magic that is AppleCare. :D

A recap.

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 04:48:10 GMT

Yesterday: A comforting reminder that I'm no longer in high school (cash for my college guides and SAT/AP review books, despite being several years out of date), shiny Doc Martens, Neutral Milk Hotel, blessedly cool buses, guitar restringing (a stupid task to undertake in 100+ degree weather, FYI), then sprawled on a couch in the dark with Harmony, and a healthy dose of cracky sci-fi (with promises for more soon; I think we managed to sufficiently intrigue one another with our respective shows).

Today: Driving with Daisy (Pixies, Paul Anka, Prince, Dr. Dre) to visit Annalee at work, swimming at Seward Park (the water a cool, perfect temperature), meaningful heart-to-hearts about stupid people, getting all dolled up (necktie skirts, spandexy black minidresses, white vinyl boots, too much eye makeup) to take Hilary and Brian to Beth's, breakfast for dinner, cup after cup of black diner coffee (the waiter was bored; it was too hot for customers), receiving a hug from a boy named Angel who, it transpired, thought I was his friend Emma (it's not like strangers hugging me is even on my "weird" radar at this point; I just thought he was being friendly), contemplating the jukebox (Al Green, Van Halen, Hank Williams, Rocky Horror), explaining the origin of the Velvet Underground's name to the aforementioned Angel (an S/M pulp novel), crayoned drawings imbibed with the spirit of David Lynch, hangman, innuendo (always, always), swearing in front of the children (it was an accident!), planning burlesque performances, harmonizing, then drifting off to her voice (gravelly, growly, then frilly and sweet) and cheek-kisses goodbye.

Tomorrow: Replacing the last two guitar strings, making sense of my hair, then buses to work and more work and finally, finally not being broke (sort of).

My belly is full and - I have to say it, because it seems a little remarkable still - I'm happy.

HI GUYS GUESS WHAT.

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 00:38:52 GMT

YEAH.

Along with everyone else in Western Washington right now,

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 06:27:27 GMT

I want to SHOOT THIS WEATHER IN THE FACE, but can't because the heat has sapped me of all useful energy. I am a person-shaped lump on the couch, grateful for what little exposure I have to our tiny fan and the ~~Melanoma~~ Melona popsicle in my left hand. They're not much, but they mean I'm no longer outside, where it's too uncomfortably awful to contemplate.

You know what would help? A glacier. I would really, really like my own glacier right now. Or possibly a bucket of ice the size of an Olympic swimming pool.

Anyway. What I'm trying to say is that I want to update, but it's too hot to brain properly. Instead, I offer you a meme, because ~~I am a kind person~~ lady_rock is tricksy and tagged me.

First: If you've been tagged, you must write your answers in your own LJ and replace any question that you dislike with a new, original question.
Second: Tag eight people. Don't refuse to do that. Don't tag who tagged you.

Lots of pillows or just one? I have TEN PILLOWS on my bed. TEN PILLOWS, TEN TEN TEN. I don't even use them all, I just like having them around because they're cuddly and rainbow-colored and sometimes when I can't sleep I bury myself in them, fort-style. I'm pretty sure I'm going to spend the rest of my life being the worst grown-up ever.

What kind of books do you read? Probably fiction for the most part, but a decent amount of nonfiction as well. I read about music and pop culture a lot in high school - Chuck Klosterman and the like, and lots of band bios and rock history - and I'm still interested in those things, though I haven't been gravitating to them as much lately. Stuff about feminism/gender/sexuality/race, etc. Classics that I've missed (which is, uh, most of them). YA fiction - classic stuff that I loved when I was little (Harriet The Spy, the Judy Blume books), and newer things that look engaging or unusual. Sci-Fi/Fantasy, though not as much as you might imagine. Memoirs, poetry, graphic novels, science books. I try to make a point to peruse as much of the library as I can and pick up whatever looks interesting.

What are your most awesome skills? Being just anal-retentive enough to keep my own shit organized and pretty, but not enough to yell at other people for their mess (Kyndra once walked in on me organizing my socks and told me I was "like the love child of Hannelore and Ianto Jones"); being mini-sized; playing too many instruments; having LASER EYES; rhyming unintentionally.

What's your occupation? Occasional record salesperson and perpetually broke student.

What are your favorite smells? Old books, old records (yes, they smell different than old books), rainy pavement, olive oil, roses, cinnamon, spicy things.

What's your current fandom/obsession/addiction? Torchwood, Doctor Who, and excessively detailed to-do lists written in five different colors of ink.

What flavour ice cream would you choose right now? It would be a giant toss-up between mango or peach sorbet, mint chocolate chip, and the cinnamon ice cream from Big Dipper. Actually, I suppose I'd have to eliminate that last one, as I'm not in Missoula. Probably the sorbet; it's TOO HOT FOR DAIRY PRODUCTS right now. D:

Describe a current conundrum. I made the mistake of going to Buffalo Exchange today in order to escape from the heat, and found like-new shiny Doc Martens in my size. I put them on hold even though I can't afford to buy more shit at the moment, and now I'm tempted to buy them because I've always wanted them and HELLO TWENTY TWO DOLLARS and I know it's a bad, bad idea right now and I have too many shoes anyway but, but...well. You see.

What was the last thing you bought? Dragonfruit Vitamin Water and a packet of Milanos from the UBookstore.

What was the cutest thing you've seen today? BABY ALLIGATORS. Did you know you can ADOPT A BABY ALLIGATOR? Now you do!

Do you get cravings? If so, what do you crave? I crave citrus when I get migraines. More specifically, I crave lemons. Yeah, I dunno.

What do you do to change your mood? If I want to feel better, usually I more or less have to wait it out, because whatever I try to do will suddenly apply to my situation in some absurdly melodramatic manner. Watching ridiculous television helps, though, along with being able to laugh amongst friends.

What is your zodiac sign? Leoooooo.

Do you want to learn another language? AHAHAHAHAHAHA. I want to learn all of the languages. More specifically, I want to turn my shitty Japanese into fluent Japanese, and I want to pick up Spanish again. Also, I'm taking Arabic this semester, have always wanted to learn Latin, and would try my hand at Ancient Greek, Irish, French, Hebrew, Russian, Mandarin, Persian, Korean...um, so this is the short version of the list, by the way. I think that's all you need to know.

Five things you can't live without.
- Family/friends
- Internet
- My myriad jangly pill bottles
- Books
- Marvelous foooood

What's something you'd like to say to someone right now? You're pretty and I'm too shy to admit it. Hee!

What are you looking forward to? Living in the TARDIS with Kyndra, having pet rats someday, being in an orchestra again, moving on from the giant mess that was the past two semesters, and the Doctor Who Christmas Special.

Say something to the person who tagged you: lady_rock: I don't have a best friend, singular; I have several people who are tremendously important to me for similar, but unidentical, reasons. That said: you've been there the longest, and you get me on a level that I've never experienced quite with anyone else. Even where our interests diverge, I think we've been able to appreciate why they're important to each other, which I know means a lot to me. I'm sorry that I didn't see more of you in high school - I was so awful at keeping in touch, but I thought about you every day. I love our freaky psychic-twin connection and I can't wait for the glorious madness that will be tomorrow. I'm here if you need me and I love you like crazy. Also, I'm sorry I kissed your brother that one time. That was weird. Made for a good middle school story, though.
ETA: Yeah, uh, I suppose I should tag people.
1.torchbaby 2.rose_vert 3.iheartsarahduh 4.bachlives 5.mcollinknight 6.hyper_drum_girl 7.flanika 8.the_heap

Speaking of lady_rock, I'm heading over to her house tomorrow afternoon, where we will proceed to have the most Epic DVD Marathon Ever To Be Marathon-ed™. I am going to attempt to indoctrinate her into the crazy that is Torchwood, and she is going to attempt to indoctrinate me into the crazy that is Supernatural. Wish us luck; I am confident that it will be Awesome and Exciting, though I am not confident that we won't both be a giant mass of eyestrain by the end.

Ta-dun!

HERE HE COMES ON A RUDDY GREAT TRACTOR.

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 07:23:55 GMT

I AM RETURNED.

To be fair, I've been RETURNED for a few days now, but it's mostly been a mess of running around being productive (to-do lists! so many to-do lists!) for the first time in two weeks, and then poking about the internet very tentatively following the insanity that was CoE, so not so much with the updating.

Select things I have done in the past 72 hours:
1. A shitload of campfire-scented laundry.
2. RSVP'd to the wedding of two people my own age (eek).
3. Waged smelly, smelly war on our yard waste bin.
4. Set up an entire badminton net by myself in the burning midday heat.
5. Had a psychic connection with lady_rock.
6. ESCAPED FROM A BURNING CAR.
7. Searched all over the Ave for the perfect used copy of The Secret History.

I'd promised my dad I would come over and help out with some insurance-related stuff, and following my quest from 7., he was kind enough to offer me a ride. Which would have been lovely, except for the part where his car died.

Fortunately, it died across the street from where I was waiting.

Unfortunately, it was, y'know, dead.

Fortunately, he was confident he knew what the problem was (hah), and after some tinkering under the hood - and a subsequent call for a jump - we were on our way.

Unfortunately, the warning light for the battery wouldn't go out.

Fortunately...well. I mean, the car was still running? We were headed in the direction of the mechanic's? It hadn't started smoking yet?

Because, oh yes, it wasn't long before we started hearing this honking behind us. It was a persistent sort of honking, tapping out what very well could have been Morse code.

"Almosttherealmosttherealmosttherealmosttherealmostthere," said Dad.
"Um," said I.
"Hey, so...do you smell something burning? Or see any smoke?"
"...Why yes, yes I most definitely do."

And that was when we pulled into the driveway of the Honda station and got the fuck out of the car right now oh god.

Anyway, long story short, the (very kindly) honking woman pulled in to tell us that the tailpipe had been sparking (!) and then left; we called the fire department just in case, and watched as the smoke (slowly, slowly) died down; I then called Sara, who was on her way to yoga class but came to pick us up; and Dad and I made tasteless jokes all the way back home, relieved at our lack of death by car fire.

(And, okay, a part of me wishes that we could have done an epic action-hero run from the scene as a giant, cinematic flameball followed in our wake, but let's face it - I am just not cool enough to pull off those sorts of shenanigans. I would've tripped and fallen on something, and it wouldn't have been pretty. Plus, my dad would've been out a car. Bad times all around.)

So. Right. That's that, then.

Meanwhile, Torchwood. Torchwood! I might re-watch it this weekend, now that I'll have a chance to do so on an actual TV, though I'm not positive. I'm still in kind of a strange place emotionally with it, but I did enjoy it enough that I know I'm going to watch it again, difficult as it will be. I've been completely afraid to enter the general fray of fandom, because from what I can tell it's still on levels of batshit crazy. However, it was nice to come home to some lovely, twisty, thoughtful reviews - positive and negative and everything in between. I expected nothing less from those authors, though.

Now I just need to get my paycheck and figure out my bank shenanigans and call my eye doctor and see HBP and...well. I think I'm going to watch Wilde.

Voice Post

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 21:46:20 GMT

ALIVE.

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 08:57:00 GMT

So my life is pretty weird right now. I don't know if I feel like I have the vocabulary to talk about it because, frankly, I don't feel like I have the vocabulary to talk about anything anymore. I honestly can't remember the last time I finished a piece of writing - to-do lists and three-line bios included. My sentences start out so lovely, so articulate, so full of promise...and wind up circling back around on themselves and falling over and containing made-up words like "mindow" and a faint suspicion that I'm somehow drunk. It happens when I'm talking, too, which would be normal and possibly endearing except for the fact that it's the only thing I seem to be able to do. Oops.

Still, I'm going to hope that I'm just terribly out-of-practice at this whole communication thing and barge on ahead, because I've really wanted to tell you all about what I've been doing lately.

And what have I been doing lately? Well, there's the part where I just finished doing a show (I hadn't done a show in forever! I kind of thought that maybe I was done doing shows, and that maybe I was okay with that!) in which I was crucified and then painted green, and I got to shout things like "I fucking AM Jesus!" and be with people I hadn't seen in quite a long time and generally have a lot of fun helping create something fairly heavy.

(Now, I'm mostly just finding green face paint all over everything I own.)

There's the part where I have an occasional job that involves taking several south-bound buses to a fabulous record store, then sorting things, dusting things, playing things, trying not to sneeze on things - and, sometimes, selling things. By "things," I mostly mean, uh, records. For those of you not here when I was 14, this is more or less my dream job and I feel like the Queen of Cool, except when I realize that I've been left in charge of an ENTIRE STORE and I am pretty much responsible if the building blows up and oh god people keep asking me questions and I have no idea what the answers are. Then I feel like the Queen of the Goobers. I eat a lot of really good Japanese food from the Asian deli nearby, though, and that helps more than one might expect.

(There is, however, the matter of it only being an "occasional" job, which means that I must search for further forms of gainful employment. I'm taking a few days off from thinking about that one though, shhh.)

There's the part where the house I'm currently occupying is not the one I left at the end of winter break, because my mother realized she was quite sick of all the crack addicts and neo-Nazi slumlords in our old neighborhood (to say nothing of our collapsing roof and bug infestation[s]). I'm mostly okay with that at this point - despite all the horrors I just described, it was very much home, and had a sort of ruined beauty that I genuinely loved; still, it was time to let go and get out, and this new place has a fabulous retro stove and big gorgeous trees and an actual backyard, and our neighbors have three fat hens who notice us every so often and cluck softly. I've spent a lot of time meticulously arranging and rearranging my room, trying to make it the right balance of comfy and geeky and stylish, all the while aware that I can't form any serious attachments or do anything of permanence because it's unlikely that I'll ever spend any greater length of time here than a summer, and there's a very real possibility that my mother could decide to pack it all up and move to Oregon or Montana in a few years.

(It's a strange state to be in, but I'm trying to appreciate it for what it is.)

There's also all the in-between, the trips back and forth and back and forth to and from the library, and the stacks and stacks of books, and the writing notes to myself in colored fountain pen ink, and folding laundry on the back porch while watching Hartnell-era Doctor Who, and doing the dishes, and seeing Star Trek twice (so far), and remembering for the millionth time in life that Ziggy Stardust is a fantastically stunningly stomach-achingly wonderful album that never ever gets old, and thrifting and Twin Peaks-ing with Daisy (pics of the results from that Value Village run, as well as a few others, soon to come, because SPOCK WATCH), and walking miles and miles barefoot with Thy and eating too-rich chocolatey things from little bakeries, and showing up at Harmony's house because I can, and being kidnapped by Cara and Kate (see: previous voice post), and texts with Kyndra regarding shoplifted hamsters and Doctor Who porn, and Chocolati and busstops with Emily, and defending Lily Allen's honor, and becoming a giant ball of excited nervous wreck thanks to NEW TORCHWOOD approaching, and sun and birds and cats and coping with allergies and riding my gorgeous green vintage Schwinn all around the hilly streets of my city.

(And there are decent-sized doses of melancholy and anxiety and fear for the future, and doctor's appointments approaching, but those things are balanced out by the fact that, for the first time in years, I'm really, truly enjoying my summer.)

Voice Post

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 06:45:35 GMT

Seriously, what.

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 21:28:30 GMT

ARGH WTF WHY IS IT STILL SNOWING. Missoula understands weather even less than Seattle does.

Anyway, I'm off to Sociology, in which we're watching a movie about pornography. I suspect it's going to come down on the anti- side and generally make me want to gnash my teeth, but I'm still curious to see how they're going to argue it.

More later.

Voice Post

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 19:02:52 GMT

INFORMAL POLL (minus the fun ticky boxes, sorry):

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 02:57:38 GMT

So. Let's say I were to register for both Japanese and Arabic next fall, armed with the knowledge that I'd have nearly a month of classes before the add/drop deadline passed.

How much of a crazy person would this make me?

(It took me forever to narrow it down to those two, and I'm still not convinced that I shouldn't be taking Irish or Latin. If I could go through college taking nothing but languages, I would be a happy nerdy thing.)

"I can't even SAY 'bwiefing'!"

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 07:25:27 GMT

So I'm editing audio of an interview I did for my Photojournalism slideshow and, having removed the "um"s and "uh"s and gratuitously long pauses, I decide to transcribe said interview so I can get a better sense of where else to cut it (I need it down to a minute, and it's currently at 3:35).

After a minute or so of rapid-fire typing, I pause Audacity and inspect my handiwork. My extremely dyslexic-looking handiwork which, I soon realize, looks roughly the same way CJ Cregg sounded after her ~~woot~~ root canal:

I suck at typing and The West Wing is awesome. Film at eleven.

Whiplash girl-child in the dark.

Tue, 03 Mar 2009 05:19:57 GMT

Mondays have been weird for me lately. I think it's because they lead to Tuesdays, and Tuesdays are stressful, and so I build up Monday night in my mind until I turn into this big ball of stress and nerves and identity crisis and wanting to simultaneously hide under my blankets and run away to Europe. I snap out of it in a day or two, and then I'm mostly fine, but Mondays are, frankly, a bitch.

I tried to give myself a break. I thought I would watch an episode of House, since I haven't done that in a while, and I discovered over winter break that I adore House. Like I said, though, it's been a while since I watched it, and while I was enjoying it intellectually, it was hitting too many weird notes emotionally for me to keep watching.

And then I read this and realized I needed to put on The Velvet Underground & Nico RIGHT AWAY.

And suddenly, I stopped feeling like my stomach was going to explode. Which is funny, because the album's subject matter is not particularly soothing, but the music is familiar and excellent, and I find a great deal of comfort in that.

When I was 13, and well on my way to becoming a rock snob, I was already aware that this record was supposed to Change My Life. Every person whose opinion I'd learned to trust said so. My mother was a fan - when I was younger, she'd frequently worn a concert t-shirt with that Andy Warhol banana printed on the front, and suddenly, it made a lot more sense. Clearly, this was a club, and one I needed to join.

So one afternoon, after I'd come home from school but before she'd come home from work, I sat down and figured out how to make my mom's turntable play.

I didn't quite get it at first, I don't think. I was expecting something completely foreign-sounding, a solid wall of noise. To me, it just sounded like music. Not bad music, by any means, but it didn't alter my perceptions of reality or anything. I'd read about the band on the Internet and in books we had lying around the house; I could explain the cultural context of The Velvet Underground & Nico and why it was so innovative, but it didn't inspire those feelings in me.

Still, I saved up my money and bought it on CD, because it felt like something I should own. I listened to it on and off for several months, into the start of high school. And then one Friday night, curled up in my beanbag chair and reading a book about punk rock, I heard the opening notes of "Sunday Morning" and all of it hit me at once.

I have no rational explanation for this, and I know I probably never will, other than it suddenly being the right time to hear it. That happens with art, but - for me, at least - especially with music. It was the right time for that record to make sense, for me to scrawl the lyrics to "All Tomorrow's Parties" in the margins of my science worksheets, for me to learn John Cale's viola parts to "Venus In Furs" on my violin and become filled with a sense of accomplishment and glee.

And I remember this, all of this, every time I hear any of that album, but especially the opening notes of "Sunday Morning."

My music listening habits have been odd and sporadic recently. I'm never sure what I want to hear; most days, I hit shuffle on my iPod and skip through tracks until something sounds right. I've found plenty of things that I enjoy, but nothing has blown me away. It's an utter cliche that music saves; right now, I'm just glad to remember that it's true.

P.S. I sort of hate to end this with a shameless plug, but the above link is from a music blog that my friend Holly (iheartsarahduh) has just started. Six days out of the week, a different writer will take on some aspect of music that is important to them. Sundays are our High Fidelity days, in which each writer contributes a Top Five list on a designated topic. I write on Fridays. We're still getting things together, but we're off to a pretty exciting start. Please check it out and feel free to join/promote: eclecticsix

SRS BISNESS.

Mon, 02 Mar 2009 06:10:14 GMT

I should be doing my reading for Sociology.

Instead, I'm contemplating what would happen if Jack Harkness got attacked by a zombie.

These are important considerations, people.

I mean, would it not affect him, or would he go all zombie-fied until they killed him again, or what?

Ugh.

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 23:45:41 GMT

Please remind me to stop arguing about feminism with white boys who have overdeveloped senses of privilege and sophistry.

ARGH ARGH ARGH ARGH ARGH.

A brief history of my university career.

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 04:52:08 GMT

I've not really updated about my day-to-day life in a while, which was something I meant to do soon after I started college. I took photos of my dorm and my walks around Missoula. I tumbled sentences around in my brain for weeks, which turned into months, and then wound up abandoned (until now, I guess).

I was tremendously excited about starting college last August. In part, I just wanted to get out of the house; I'd had a difficult senior year, which led to a stressful summer. I was genuinely looking forward to school, though - I'd left Orientation with a promising schedule and what felt like a few honest shots at real friends (seriously, when does that even happen?). I'd been waiting for a fresh start for a long time, and I finally had one.

And sure, it was a spectacularly naive view, but I knew it was a naive view going in. I also knew that I needed to believe it was possible if I was going to get anything done.

So I started school that fall, and in a lot of ways, I was enjoying myself. My classes were interesting, if intense. Two of the people I’d befriended at Orientation were in my Honors FIG and a third, Kyndra, was turning out to be awesome incarnate. We bonded over Eddie Izzard quotes and our dislike of Twilight, and soon we were having adventures all over the city, dressing up in costumes and making friends with local businesspeople (Lady Tsunami, Movie Guy, Corset Girl). We’d walk to the library and check out stacks of books too large to carry, and when the first season of Torchwood came in, I introduced her to that as well. It was an insane amount of fun, and while I’d started out the semester convinced I would transfer to Reed as a sophomore, I realized that I was more and more reluctant to leave.

Of course, part of the reason I was reluctant to leave was because I was convinced no other school would take me. I’d had a difficult time in high school, between losing several important people and my final realization that I was not, in fact, straight, and I hadn’t coped with any of it particularly well. A few weeks into college, things began to resurface. I was still having fun with Kyndra, and with the other people I was meeting, but I was spending a lot less time in class and a lot more time sleeping. I was frustrated with myself for not handling any of it better, and it turned into an ugly vicious cycle that culminated in my doing terribly in almost all of my classes. Even if I’d truly wanted to transfer, none of my professors would have been likely to give me shining recommendations – most of them barely knew who I was.

So that was a bit stressful.

Anyway, long story short, I realized I needed help, and I finally went into Curry Health Center and found a counselor to talk to. I’d been reluctant to call it depression since I was fairly young, but when I found out that half my family has had some form of depressive or anxiety disorder, I decided it was worth closer scrutiny. I went home for winter break and saw my doctor, who put me on antidepressants. I’m still not certain how I feel about that, but they’ve seemed to work for the most part, and that’s pretty important at this point. I’m trying them out for six months, and then I’ll decide where to go from there.

You’ll notice, by the way, that I tagged this with “depression.” I don’t intend to spend a lot of time talking about it, and I’m not interested in sympathy or excuses, but it’s a part of my life and I’ll probably bring it up again if it’s relevant.

So where am I now? I’m on academic probation, but I still have financial aid and I’m still in the Honors College, as long as I bring up my GPA. Which seems likely, as I’m only taking twelve credits this semester, and I’ve been working hard and enjoying my classes. I’ve had the occasional late-night existential crisis, but they’ve been reduced from “oh shit oh shit how do I even function at all” to “O HAI THAR I’m a college student” levels. People have been nice and accommodating, and I’ve had to deal with very little bureaucratic bullshit. In other words, I’m very, very lucky.

I’ll write more about my classes soon (I won’t promise to update regularly, as that seems to be a kiss of death on this journal, but I’ve been doing more writing lately and enjoying it, so something may transpire), but in the meantime, have some pictures of my dorm.

Our door. Kyndra made the ghost last Halloween. I don't think I fully realized it was still up until our hall was putting up Valentine's Day decorations and K.T. asked if she could take it down to put up the doilies. "...Can't we have the ghost and the doilies?" I asked.

My half of the room.

Bed.

L-R: Pen-gin, Ratgirl, Catbus. Center: Little Disembodied Head Thing. It probably needs a better name than that. Oops. It was a birthday present from Hilary a few years ago.

Fridge. Let the record show that Magnetic Obama is, in fact, saying "RAHM IS MY HOMEBOY." You know it's true.

Assorted fun stuff. Books (featuring Vonnegut, Stoppard, Gaiman, and the best of the awesome cheesy Torchwood novels)! DVDs (the trunk contains all of the Harry Potter movies)! Magazines (Bust, Bitch, Magnet, and Venus Zine)! And...who's that on the right?

Why, it's My Little Cthulhu!

Obama won. Cthulhu is pleased.

Textbooks. Sadly, the Sandman book is not one of them; that's just where I have space for it.

Desk. I do work here and everything.

Devil Duckies and Dunnys.

Other assorted nerdy toys. Notice the sushi erasers, the sonic screwdriver, and the Doctor Who playing cards.

Zebra mug and teacup.

Postcards (including, yes, one of the Bettie Page house. I nearly had a heart attack when I found it), robot arm, calendar, Groucho Marx glasses.

More postcards.

Because I vote, yo. Also: Office Post-Its! They don't work very well, but they fill me with glee, so it's okay.

Kyndra likes to add commentary to my stuff when she thinks I'm not looking.

"Who you gonna vote for?" "BARACK OBAMA!"

"Pluto says: 'You're not a planet, bitch!'" and "Still a planet!"

...Does what it says on the tin?

Dresser/vanity/whathaveyou.

My shelves. Those are Ben Blackwell's drumsticks in the corner, by the way.

Trinkets.

Ballerina jewelry box. Ironically, I didn't have one of these when I was little - I was not that sort of kid at all. I picked it up at a consignment shop a few years ago.

Our dorm has storage.

A lot of storage.

It means I can have a ~~tea~~food drawer.

We also have a sink, which means that everyone wants to live in our building, despite being weirded out by the all-girls thing.

Sailor Moon towel is SRS BISNESS.

I love my Kimya Dawson poster (I found it in the free poster bin at Ear Candy downtown), but I haven't colored it. Sorry, Kimya; I've let you down.

Here, have a look at my library books. The Francesca Lia Block ones are mostly for nostalgic purposes; I loved her when I was in middle school, and these were some of the only two I never read.I expect to do a little cringing, but I'm still looking forward to reading them.

I leave you with Enid, for she is marvelous. She belongs to both Kyndra and I, but lives in my room for now. Lady Tsunami ordered her for us after remarking that we looked like Enid and Rebecca and learning that we love Ghost World. I've wanted an Enid doll since I was, like, fourteen. WIN.

Guys, life is good. I mean, sometimes it does stupid things, but on the whole, life is good. I'm excited about that.

OH MAN.

Fri, 06 Feb 2009 02:40:50 GMT

DEAR ~~TURCHWAD~~TORCHWOOD,

YOU ARE EPIC AND LULZY AND INSANE. OH GOD. ILU BB, NEVER CHANGE.

Stupid-excited for June or whenever the hell this thing is actually coming out,
Fern

P.S. GWEN, YOU ARE A BADASS AND I WANT TO SNUGGLE YOU.

P.P.S. I'll do a real update soon, I promise.