But you tear and tear your hair from roots...(5/6/03)
Right now I'm listening to Fevers and Mirrors and trying to figure out a lot that I wish I knew and a lot more that I wish I had never learned. It's funny how you think nothing bothers you until you get knocked off balance and finally you're swamped with these feelings of self-loathing and self-doubt and realization. I am nobody's person, and everybody would rather it remain this way. Bonds that I hold are like burning paper. Words I speak are no more important than some grunt or utterance that I common drunk at a bar speaks. You assume he's saying, "Hey, can I get a cigarette?" He could, however, just said, "Hey, will you love me?" I'm like that. Desperately seeking affection, even blank affection. I want affection, no strings, no limits, no classifications, no labels. I want someone to be there with me at all times and say, "Hey, you're worth something." I watch people walk in twos everywhere, and I'm the solo. I wish just once someone would be my companion. Even for a brief minute. Even if it was merely under false pretenses. I remember the last satisfactory experience. Staring through a window on a cold day. The light was shining through these little colored pieces of cellophane and plastic that lined the window. This beautiful plethora of colors was there, despite the fact that the world outside the window was cold and dead. Winter had killed everything, yet that window was a living testament of life and love. My ideas on relationships are so much like that warm window shielding and tricking my eyes from the real world. I remember stepping outside; cold, dead grass to the car that reeked of coffee and cigarettes and riding along the pothole-stricken roads back to home. My windows never decieved me so beautifully as that one did.
So, what does this have to do with affection? The window decieved me. I woke to sunlight pouring through bright oranges, reds, yellows--a full ROY G. BIV, if you will--promising a beautiful day. The day ahead would be terrible, I just knew it. But for that brief minute, the window made me smile. Even when it was opened, and the cold breeze poured in, exchanging the musty cigarette stench that engulfed everything for sharp chills, I still smiled. The spaceheater had failed at some point during the night, and an open window to a gray day surrounded by colored plastic that melted together so decisively was ironic. Love, affection, anything like that--is ironic to me. It's rare, often false. I prefer it to be blank.
I prefer it to be a blank page that I can dent and deck and scribble upon. I prefer it to be an open book with nonsensical language so that I know that I'm being screwed over in advance. I prefer it to be a pretty face with half a brain and a good kiss. I prefer too much to reality. I prefer nothing to reality. I prefer nothing. If I could write the story of my life and each scene would play to my desire, I would be satisfied. I loathe disappointment. So I prefer this blank sense of affection. I prefer that final words be said ahead of time, and we play the simple roles as if we're naive. I love the petty play. I love the deception. We both know how it's going to end.
Deception is a beautiful thing. I have respect for careful hands that lay small strips of plastic in order upon windows to confuse and engage my morning vision. The distraction is beautiful, demeaning, terrible, and lovely. If he were to strip away the layer, and I be left to stare into the cold, gray, winter day, I would have nothing to look forward to, even what lays behind the curtain is just false advertising.
The careful hands that prepare this scenery hold my hearts. I don't want love; I know better. I want affection. I prefer the window dressing.
pay no mind to all that garbage...I made it into a poem. so BOOYAH!
I don't want love. seriously. I want some fucking window dressing. in the form of...making the fuck out!
back to her old tricks,
xieboomboom!
i'm gonna be a star! (5/5/03)
here's the deal: i ripped this survey off moc_neworleans on the lj communities. but, here i go. disagree with my movie? eff you! do one for yourself, and mail it to me (suburbanlust at hotmail). thanks kindly...
SOUNDTRACK TO MY MOVIE:
OPENING CREDITS - bob dylan - tangled up in blue CAR DRIVING SCENES - smashing pumpkins - 1979, add n to x - adding n to x HIGH SCHOOL FLASHBACK SCENES - simple minds - don't you forget about me NOSTALGIC SCENES - blink 182 - dammit BITTER/ANGER SCENES - glassjaw - hurting and shoving, folk implosion - daddy never understood BREAKUP SCENES - bob dylan - i want you, carly simon - you're so vain NIGHTCLUB/BAR SCENES - missy elliot - work it, cam'ron - hey ma, guttermouth - chug-a-lug night FIGHT/ACTION SCENES - basement jaxx - where's your head at? SAD/BREAKDOWN SCENES - bright eyes - drunk kid catholics, veruca salt - shutterbug SCARY SCENES - the faint - ballad of a paralyzed citizen, DEATH SCENES - bright eyes - an attempt to tip the scales, radiohead - paranoid android FUNERAL SCENES - remy zero - hollow, CHEER UP SCENES - billy joel - only the good die young DREAM ABOUT SOMEONE SCENES - air - sexy boy SEX SCENES - bright eyes - lover i don't have to love, patti smith group - because the night, clem snide - evil vs. good, the faint - worked up so sexual PONDER/CONTEMPLATION SCENES - radiohead - karma police MAKEOUT SCENES - smashing pumpkins - tonight, tonight, pink floyd - young lust, weezer - across the sea CHASE/HURRY SCENES - iggy pop - lust for life HAPPY LOVE SCENES - george harrison - i got my mind set on you, david bowie - rebel rebel, rilo kiley - the frug HAPPY FRIENDS SCENES - badfinger - no matter what, the effing wonder years theme, scarface - my block CLOSING CREDITS- sigur ros - olsen olsen
enjoy!wah-da-tah-x-tin-ah.
workin' in a coal mine...(4/28/03)
Work study work study work study work study....
Today = go in at 2:30, leave at 6:30, eat, go to Walgreens, come back at around 8ish, stay until 11ish. Whee!
It's okay because that way i'll get to read some more of that damn book that I have to finish and write a paper for due Wednesday. It's not a bad book, I just need some visine because my eyes are really scratchy. I could use some caffeine pills as well, but I'll just settle for a capuchino/chai tea in my room at some point in the next couple hours. I need the hours, so working 6+ hours will help me. Looks like this week (cuz I may do this again friday) I'll be raking in 20 hours. Because I'm not allowed to exceed 20, stupid stupid rules. So If i break the 20 I'll just move them over to next week. Yes, yes, cheat the system!
Last night I felt very alone and depressed, and I was searching fervently for a sign that I was of some worth. That came in the form of a 3:30 AM phone call from none other than Robert. Life is funny sometimes.
Well, that's about all I have to say right now. I'm dreadfully tired, but I have to keep moving on...
xieboomboom!
smaller tits and younger limbs can cause a fit of rivalry...(4/24/03)
Yesterday, while walking to get a drink at dinner, I crashed on my knees in front of every-fucking-one. Good thing no one saw...Wait, no...the DG sorority girls did. Yeah, they pointed and laughed...then they resume eating...then...they turned back around and pointed and laughed again. Jesus, you'd think they had a vendetta for me. I don't even know these girls and they're just pointing and laughing at me like I'm some passe fuck. Gah. You would think I had been rejected by them during rush season or something. I don't hate all sorority girls...just the select few who are that catty to point and laugh when a kid is BLEEDING! Yeah, and I have the skinned knee to prove it. I hope someone gives them date rape or pale ale. Gah...not really.
Isn't that amusing?! I love being the butt of jokes! Tonight I'm going to shim sham...that should be fun. Tuesday I went to the Uptown Comedy Invasion. Um, something tells me that I've been going about this all illegally and stuff. They say that in the future they're going to attempt to make it 18 and over...So, technically it's not 18 and over right now? How do I always get in? Well, Tom's working door, but...Is that why I'm generally the youngest person there? This confuses me. I mean, I don't drink when I'm there (save tuesday), I honestly go for the comedy thing...have I been doing something wrong? Eh, who cares. I'll be home in 3 weeks anyway...
Tomorrow is Jazz Fest! I'm going after class (yeah, taking the street car, the the BUS!) to the fairgrounds to go see Bob Dylan again! Wow, it's surreal that a week exists where I see both Bright Eyes AND Dylan (my faves of new and old). Life is grand when shit like that happens. Wowies.
Well, I'm still at work for another hour +. The hours still smush, I'm still happy, so no matter.
Loves.christina.
gossip is as good as gospel in this town...(4/22/03)
So, spring break is over and done with. I'm back at lovely Loyola (wait...I was always here practically). Though I was sad for a decent amount of the time, things got better. Thursday I went home finally and watched Harry Potter and ate some taquitos with Ashley. Friday I went shopping and hung out with my fam, and went home later that night. Saturday was Bright Eyes.
Okay. There are rare occasions in my life where I feel like things are coming full circle and are absolutely perfect. This was one of them. Honestly. Entering the venue was chaos, leaving was utter chaos, that night was chaos, but the hour or so that Conor Oberst was on stage was...fucking amazing. It made everything negative in my life just sort of fade out to whitenoise and instead I heard his shakingly brilliant and undeniably deep lyrics matched by a beautiful and flawed voice. I mean, "A Perfect Sonnet," "The Calendar Hung Itself," "Waste of Paint," "A Song to Pass the Time," "You will...," "Arienette," the list goes on and on and on and...It was exactly what I needed. This was probably the most undeniably beautiful performance I have ever seen in my life. Don't get me wrong, Bob Dylan was amazing, but to be ten feet away from a beautiful guy on stage singing hauntingly revealing lyrics while toting a bottle of red wine is...amazing. The show was great.
Tonight I go to Carrollton Station. Tommy McConnell from high school is performing so it should be interesting. Thursday is 80s Night at Shim Sham. Friday is Jazz Fest and Bob Dylan. Wow. A twice in a lifetime experience. Insane, really.
Yesterday I went with my mom and Miss Nancy to visit her sister Mary. This was the first time I had ever met Mario, her 'husband' and their little daughter Gray. Gray is beautiful and a devil child and I hope I have a replica of her one day. Arsun is beautiful as ever. Hmmm, I wonder this summer if I could weasle a way to be Mario's nuisance...er, aid. That would be so effing amazing. Well, a girl can hope. He's such a great photographer; I feel honored to have met him.
Anyway, I'm finally doing things I should have done a long while ago. I'm writing my thank-yous and doing back-dated latin homework. Maybe Savvy Sav can cut my hair later. Doubt it, but still. I need a change. I feel a mullett a-coming...
Adieu,
Christina.
and i can hate your girl, i can tell you that she's real pretty...
there. some pictures. satisfied?
all I have to say really. audoban park, vonnegut, tanning, fasting (well, foodless), isolation, updating website, homework...my life is basically reduced to simple themes. nothing too insane. gah. it's weird. and i made that halter top...
christina.
clean house
(duh, you guessed it...)
BEFORE:
AFTER
my wall...
look. my posters aren't this falling down this time. look. the tequila still stays by my desk. Look. i stole a bright eyes flier off a pole today. look...oh, hell. it's 4 AM. I need to rest.
coffeeshops, killing the liver...
Wednesday was Sozai. dug it. Thursday was Silent Cinema. dug it. Saturday was Chas Brosco and Antenna Inn. dug it.
I've been quite the scenester lately, eh? Hanging out with those makeoutclub kids. Seriously, I never really did until recently. It gets addictive. I get this sorority/fraternity vibe. Drinking buddies and confidantes are always great...
I'm now pretty much out of things to say. I went to Rue tonight I wrote for about an hour over a cup of coffee. I guess I'll just type some of that out:
No one ever comes clean with me. Be it my friends or lovers. No one ever comes clean with me.
Why?!? Is it my personality? Will I cry? Yeah, probably. But who wouldn't?
But. It would have been one time rather than a thousand and I wouldn't be posting the same sad sappy ridiculous lofty hopeful charming "good god i try too hard to please you and this is how you repay me" entries in journals, notebooks, stories, poems, online and in drunken fervent monologues.
FINI
But. The fact remains that it did occurr, and therefore I am now...here
Last night was a lot of drinking and a lot of bullshit and a lot of fun. I guess fun most of all.
I like meeting new people. I meet people under ridiculous circumstances...
...When I'm home, I'm utterly alone and missing it all. But I've done it and based on all the crazy memories/drinking buddies/music experiences/insanity I've encountered, It's worth it. Even the terrible things are worth it. Even the really terrible things are worthi it. Because the random moments of my life are here, in the city, walking to bars and meeting new people, kissing too many kids and screaming, crying my eyes black and drinking my cheeks red.
95% of my great memories occurred here. 95% of the time I've felt alive in the past year occured here. Last night, though a sad wake-up call, was one.
and, hell. There's a certain charm being known as the drunk kid that broke a 40 of King Cobra.
So, sitting at rue has lifted my spirits considerably. A cup of coffee, a notebook, a pen. The same workers, the same walk, the same inability for me to concentrate. The same kid.
I feel so good right now, I could kiss someone. Considering 5 or so pages ago I was the polar opposite, It just goes to show ya.
Words are powerful.
Christina.
Half my jeans, my toothbrush, my hairbrush, and a lot of other shit is in the dell. Crap.
I'll buy a new toothbrush tomorrow when I figure out how much tickets this weekend are. Bright eyes...ahhhh.
I miss home though. I am a terrible daughter. Yes.
she runs around in circles 'till she's very very dizzy, still they holler...(4/9/03)
keep it busy, cinderelli...
okay, now that the disney song is out the way...shit. last night was utter randomocity. i was bitching all night about how i wanted to drink (we're talking 7:00 pm on), and no one is willing to join me. at 11 i was gung-ho for quill's, but it was too freaking cold outside for me to even contemplate walking there alone. so i did my usual 'walk walk bitch bitch' routine around the dorms. savvy sav was flipping out because john was nowhere to be found and she needed her bio stuff to study. nikki was contently shibby after margaritas at vera cruz. geoff was just...around.
so i dove in a car with the three of them and we drove around. first place we hit was the tulane parking garage so we could try to see if john was there. let me tell you, listening to Kid A while driving around in circles is a disaster. i got this insane panic attack where i had to grab onto the door handle for dear life, wide-eyed, scared out my mind. all the while everyone else is contently happy. then i start to rip the fake nails off. yeah, they're super-glued, but i couldn't even feel it. i was flipping out. it was crazy. feeling boxed in and nervous. every corner we turned seemed like we'd take out a row of parked cars. i was scared shitless. finally we made it out (and i, relatively unscathed yet nailless). next stop was to river road to find geoff's wallet. we had no clue *where* river road was, but we found it. we did not, however, find geoff's wallet, so everyone was headed back to campus. i, on the other hand...drank.
when i'm on a mission, i'm on a mission. no, really. when i want to drink, i drink. i hate going to bars because i often drink like a freaking lush. but quill's is my friend always. 4 beers, 2 shots. tequila is still my friend. i love you jose cuervo. i think i win the award for coolest drunk kid ever. i meet fifty-million people and am friendly, unlike the antisocial bastard i am in regular life.
i don't remember what time bed actually occurred, but it felt *so* good to sleep. somehow i managed to set my entire alarm clock up an hour which fucked me over considerably this morning when i'm flipping out believing "i have class in 10 minutes" when in actuality it is more like 70 minutes. i didn't realize this until i dive in the elevator with jon hinchey and i'm like "why aren't you at mercy right now?" he's like, "um, i'm going to mercy..." then i realize, fuck, i'm an hour early. c-store mcmuffins fill my empty stomach. rock on, you badass motherfuckers. actually, no. they make my stomach hurt quite bad, but in such a *good* way it makes my morning.
but now that i'm up (and contently hungover at that), i'd like to comment on the weather. It sucks! fucking 45 degrees out. again, where's the 'bikini in audoban park' weather? sometimes i wonder. screw you, louisiana.
so, i guess i'm heading downtown tonight. what, me, downtown? alone? hell, man, it's s. rampart. it's mama's blues. funky butt is my friend. jose shots and a show. i can do *so* do that.
what the hell is with all the asteriks?
Christina.
bust our your galoshes! (4/8/03)
dear lord, has it been raining! i'm sick of the rain. i like being about to run around in flip-flops and go to audoban park and sit by the pond and feed the ducks and tan and read vonnegut but inside?! hell no! inside all i do is play with my webcam or vote on thecuties or update my website or (drink) or watch tv or be antisocial! damn the rain!
anyway, so i stay at work-study until 6:30 from now on. i thought i'd hate it, but it's not too bad. after a few hours, they just sort of squish together and it's relatively painless. i mean, hell, all i do is things like this (i'm at work right now), read fark, make copies occaisionally, and just jack around for 4 hours. i thought i lacked an attention span. i impress myself at times.
i go home on friday night. my little sister's prom is saturday. i can't wait to see her all decked out. later that night is a show. i may go and (oooh) drive into nola like the rebellious mofo that i am. i love driving. it makes me so happy.
well, all for now. i wish it would stop raining. just for once. no, sprinkling does not count. grrrr!
-christina.
i had a dream last night, and it fit me like a glove...(3/31/03)
stolen from the LJ, but i liked it, so i figured it could go here too. my dreams are fucking insane.
Fucked up dream number II: I was riding on Martha Stewart's log raft across a large sea. Upon docking the raft sinks. Martha Stewart doesn't care; she just wants to smoke some crack-cocaine. Her house is in a cave, and is all cement. There's no decorations. She just does a lot of drugs. Then we were supposed to go clubbing, but the next thing I know I'm sitting by myself in a booth in a large restaurant. The restaurant is packed with people I know; but the majority of people eating in there are people I've kissed. My first kiss is sitting far away, and they get closer in seating arrangements. The server was my mother. The last person I kissed was sitting across the restaurant facing me. He kept looking at me and then reading the menu. Then he would talk to my mom, who would glare at me, and then he'd glare at me. But he never would talk to me. Then I found myself walking on the train tracks with my little sister. She was talking about how she really wanted to do some drugs. I told her to talk to Martha Stewart. We laughed and walked on top the train tracks; we never fell despite the fact we had on 4-inch stiletto heels. Then there was a fork in the road, and we bid each other farewell. Then I somehow was in room with cement floors and gray walls. There was a large window on one wall. I was alone with the guy from the restaurant. He kept running up to me and trying to kiss me, but I kept pushing him away because I was naked. He just kept asking me over and over again why I was upset. I couldn't say anything because I was naked and just tried to cover my face so he wouldn't kiss me. Then I looked in the corner and one of his friends sat there smoking a cigarette in a big LA-Z BOY recliner. He took a drag, cocked his head, and glared at me, saying, "what!?" over and over again. And I, who was very distressed over newboy trying to kiss me after he refused to talk to me in the restaurant and the very upset over the guy in the corner smoking, jumped out the window.
fade to black. i didn't make a sound. i just sailed to the bottom of a black hole. then i woke up, and began my day.
Chris.ti.na.
hey, dick...(3/31/03)
weep weep bitch bitch. look at my face. it explains it all.
i'm too tired to smile and too tired to frown. so i just look away these days...
mind-fucks across the boards.
dreams about my father.
wondering, starting to regret things.
body starting to fail me.
extremely self-conscious these days. boys are the source of it. believe me.
lies.
wondering when nb will actually come clean.
a lot of old poems could better explain this shit. suburban lust, converse, college I & II, provoke...
who actually reads this...?
help.
my so-called life. (3/28/03)
christina meets a boy. they click. they say they like each other. they hang out a few times. they grow 'busy.' they don't hang out. christina gets sad.
well. that's the simplified version of my love life in the past 6 months. big whooping fucking fun it is. let's see. ted, dave, james, timmy, and most recently, newboy.
part of me wants to say, 'hey, boy, stop with the mind-fuck. either you like me or you don't, so fucking decide already and let me move on.' i suffer from the angela chase complex. if i like a boy, it sort of rules my thoughts. especially when the situation is in limbo, which is exactly what is going on right now. this whole situation fucking sucks harder than most because i can't really read the person too well, so i don't know his usual bullshit excuses. there's no signs, no clues, no way of me knowing either way. i would just flat-out say, 'well...yes or no?' but i'm too fucking scared of rejection. jesus. wuss. if how we act when we see each other deems how we feel towards each other, then, yes, things are okay. but i can't say that's the case this time. i can't say much this time.
mind games suck. i can't handle this much longer. i might just explode. this is more angela chase than ever. fuck you, pseudo-jordan catalano. either make out with me or give me back my bike.
-i'm out my skull.
christina.save me.
grrrr. (3/24/03)
does anyone remember my paper on george herbert's "the windows?" the one where i had major distress over it and felt terrible for reading an online analysis on it for help? i felt like such a douchebag for doing that. even if it wasn't cheating, even if i didn't necessarily do anything wrong. i just felt like the ideas were not mine because i thought them, it was more or less because i had a clarity and inspiration from another person's paper. i didn't copy it, it just helped me get on the right track. but jesuschristgoddamnshitfuck! in class we have to exchange papers with someone else who wrote on the same topic and tell the teacher friday what we learned from it. you know what i learned? he didn't write it. he used one of the essays i had read. he copied parts of the paper verbatim. in fact, paraphrased the entire essay. that pisses me off so bad. i have to commend him friday and tell him what i think of his paper?! i think he's a big fat dirty fucking cheater that shows no remorse for using another person's thoughts and claims them as his own. and he's a big frigging moron to boot. i was sitting there mad at myself for reading a paper on this poem to help me start, and he just steals. i mean, you can use cliff notes, but you don't copy them directly. jesus. that really is unfair.
