the subway is a rollercoaster that takes you to work.

Ok. I get it. Seriously, I'm not that beautiful. Ahem.

James Blunt would be cuter without the creepy stare. Take a note from the shoegazers, please. Nobody likes confrontational eye contact from their musicians. At least pretend the melody you created takes some of your concentration, or, like, you're so moved by your own lyrics you gotta just close your eyes and feel it. Something. I'm easily spooked.

I put up a bookshelf in my room, and got rid of two bags of garbage. Everything I own is crammed into a tiny room, so I have to make the most of what I have. I've been "building up". I finally feel for the first time like I have a bedroom that is a liveable space. I still need a new bed and a bedside lamp, and to sort a few piles or miscellaneous junk. The most important part is: I built something all by myself!

They call them crushes for a reason. I can't breathe. I'm an idiot. It's a stupid thing I know I have to get over. Stupid!

My frined named her dog, and she didn't go with any of the bean/pants variations i offered. It's ok, actually, I'd rather keep the bean/pants for me. ("bean soup" will be the first dog. then "___pants" will be the name of the second. When I am actually at a place in my life where I can support a needy thing, I will have had plenty of time to fill in that blank.) She went with "Snack", which is pretty cute. Check back for pix and sniffz.

Can I get a hand claaaaaaaaaap
for the way I work mah baaaaaaaaaaaaaack

Jessica Simpson's "These Boots (are blahblah)" is the greatest song of all time. The video is so porny. It is the perfect video to watch while working out. All the girls turned their tvs to Jessica sassin around a car in her bikini. We all tipped our heads to the side, oggled her waist, and turned our resistance up a few levels.

I'll be travelling to North Carolina, England, and Rhode Island in the next six months. I can't afford to eat or buy books or go home to b-lo or have heat. That didn't stop me from ordering the lobster ravioli last night. And a second glass of chardonnay. Oh, but I was famished! and sober! And Johnathon was in town! Also! Other excuses!


I have a cold.

I suck at being cool

But I'm ok.

I went to two parties. Both of them were fun times. Friday I went to Brooklyn to a friend's house. It was kind of nuts. I got home at 2am on saturday morning, stared at the ceiling until 8:30, went to rehearsal at 9:30 (which is, surprisingly, a pretty decent time for a rehearsal) came home and played five hours of Arkham Horror with my brother and two friends. I'm glad I had that five hours of a thousand rules to absorb and die rolls instead of sleeping. At least I got to sit down for it. It was fun, I keed. Last night I had another party, this time much closer to home. I got to see my friend Johnny, whom I haven't seen in over a year and a half. We had a lot of catching up to do. I really wasted last night though, somehow. Funny that.

DEAREST SARIE PPS.. GLAD SO GLAD YOU ARE COMING OUT OF THE LONG DARK BREAK UP TUNNEL...good movie for you MUST LOVE DOGS...LOVEmomma

(We're a capslock family.)

four eyes

I got two parties to go to. One tonight and one tomorrow. I am happy for social events.

I can't stop swearing. I'm really sorry to anyone who just cruised over here and is offended. I am going back before I post this and taking out all of the gratuitous "f"s. I just need to work this goddamned shit out.

I want that chocolatey chex mix to get in my fucking mouf so I can chew that shit and say fucking "yum".

I can't fucking wait to go to England and I wish I had like a million dollars so that I could pay off my bills and buy a camera so I can take pictures of that shit.

What the goddamned shit is this fucking crap?

I don't want to seem ungrateful for this job, but the energy here is so negative, and honestly I could do without the way people talk to me. Whatever.

I could put my arms around every boy I see

I want to eat in a restaurant. Does that make me spoiled? I like my home, I love my couch. I like eating a granola bar on the fly. Heck, I have kinda taken to eating at my desk. But man, there is nothing like a glass of wine, warm bread in a basket wrapped loosely in a napkin, a bowl of something drenched in vodka sauce, delightful people watching, and some good conversation. I swear. I crave it all the time.
I went out to dinner on Friday. I took the ferry(!) to Hoboken(!), I ate a steak. I drank about five glasses of chardonnay. It was the Best Night Ever. Doing that doesn't make me crave it any less, knowhatImean? It's like when you smell hot wings and you feel the bite in your jaw, but all the time, and for candlelight.

I annoy myself, too, with this talk.

I watched the tape of my sketch show this weekend. Whoo boy. I know what I look like, and of course, seeing it on screen is like getting kicked in the kidney repeatedly, but I was prepared for that. I was not prepared for Stiffy McStifferson and the Boardettes. I have no range of motion. Whassat about? I started taking Nia this weekend, which is a sort of dancey movement workout class. That should help, maybe. Ooof. David Mamet says the job of the actor is to speak clearly and have a supple body. And to say "fuck" a lot.

peeker
zipper
bean dog
pocket
harry hamlin
kissin' spot.
Mr. Pants


I should get a full-time job naming dogs.

The Third Hand

Now this is about how it happened as it was told to me. Don't ask no questions about its veracity as I'm only passing on that what was passed on to me. Bear in mind there was a long tip of liquor involved and a campfire and all of us, well, none of us would say so but we was all just missing our wives something fearsome. But I still say this is the truth of it. You can't see something in a man's eyes that isn't there.
-----------
This one time I was visiting my country cousins, and we snuck out past
curfew, as kids is wont to be doing. We was out trying to see who
could spit the furthest off the bridge by the chemical plant when
these two fellers in lab coats come running up all yellin about the
end times and one of them, out of his skin with fright, jumps off the bridge like he was hopping into bed for a night a' honest rest! The other one goes
grabbing my shirt and babbling about getting out of town on account he
had money if one of us could drive. Well, sure as shapoopie there's
a big bang from the chemical plant, and a whole lotta hootin and
hollerin, and nobody knows what's going on. All I'm thinking is why
won't this feller get off my shirt, and boy I wished I hadn't ditched
my community service today. When the dust settled true the cops came
around asking about them scientists. The jumper's body came awash
a week later about a day's walk up Shiver Creek. The other one, well, they ain't seen hide nor hair 'a him since. and sometimes, I can still feel him a'tuggin on my shirt.


*this is what happens when someone asks me what it's like to have a third hand and for some reason I am pretending I have three hands also I am bored.

It seems you found a better fish

If you can find it, "Fighting for my Love" by Nil Lara is my song of the century (of the day). Except for the wonky part in the middle, I wish that song would never end. It reminds me of Garvey. I can't tell you why. (no, there is nothing wonky with your middle, Mike.)

I was invited to go on a tour of the British Isles with some friends of mine. I don't know how, but I am doing it. Maybe while I'm there I can get some funny little scottish man to bend me over the bar and give me what I've been needing all this time. (A loving, dedicated relationship*) I don't know if this is one of those things you talk about when you're drunk and never do or if it's actually happening, but I think i might get my passport just in case.
Also, if sitting next to someone for an hour can make me walk on air for a week, I think that is a good indication that I am ready for a good number six**, don't you? From anybody. This guy's not giving it up too easily. But I am. What? (no, I'm not.) I am ok with this guy not liking me. It's very cool. My brain knows it, but my heart's still picking out wedding songs, because it's WHAT SHE DOES. And she's mad good at it, yo.
I have considered the online dating bs, but I can't. I'm such a swan. I can't date. My heart only works in one direction. I keep thinking I want to cure myself of that, and then I really don't. I don't care if it takes the rest of my life. I'll figure it out. When I do, it'll be good and worth it. And I promise to come on here and be all cryptic about it.
I just want someone who makes me feel as good as the first few notes of "Such Great Heights" or the piano in "I can see my house from here" or "swim" or every gorgeous note of "un petite air" do. Or the drums opening of "autumn sweater". Or the lyrics in "There goes the fear". And something about Coiln Hay is doing it for me lately. Just download these songs, it will replace falling in love pretty effectively.
Hey look, it's midnight. Happy nottaversary.
It took a year to the day my heart fell apart, but I finally am ready. Sweet fancy moses, I am ready.

This naked honesty is brought to you by oatmeal stout. enjoy responsibly.
Are you ready? Because I am ready.

*(and angry, whiskey-blind, soccer hooligan sex. Oi!)
**see my new year's post. My wish for 2006 was a bunch of career bullshit that I didn't mean and a decent kiss.

This is proabably the best blonde joke I've ever read.

(Don't read the comments, it kills the punchline!)

let's play them. games.

If you're reading this, and you're at a computer lab, or hell, even if you're at home or work, open my comments and right click paste into the field. Come on. You don't have to sign it. Whatever was copied last. I want it.
Maybe I can guess who you are. But probably not.
I'll go first!

I am the only person who cares about this

I don't know if I should blame it on poor writing, or maybe Zach Braff wants to get out of his contract so he can do movies, I don't know. I love this show, but sometimes it's just badbadbad. I never feel that about a show I love. Please, Scrubs. Be better. It's funny when you're real, when you take even the silly stuff very seriously. Sometimes the cutaways just feel like filler. Last night JD was chewing MY furniture. It can be so good. It really can. Just stop trying to make it into a cartoon. (also? is there any way we can make JD and intern again?)

I've been renting the first season on netflix, and lemmetellya, this show can be the best thing on tv, and then be awful one episode later. Ah. It is a reflection of the fragility of life, no? (I typed that in a french accent.)

the glaring omission


My favorite movie of 2005-Serenity. Got that? Very important.

(dur.)

two thousand and no sex


I spent last night alone on my big empty bed, truffles untouched, watching a documentary on Regan. I assume this is better than being ensnared in some kind of social drama. Still, I miss having some boy to cry about or obsess over. I swore them off, though. Time to learn French, take up independent filmmaking, clean my room, pay off bills, see new york, lose weight and read more books. This is what I call getting my head on straight. Having my head on straight will be so valuable when I enter my next relationship. Also, I totally get the whole Iran-Contra thing now, and I never could have done that if I was gabbing on the phone with some comedy nerdboy, or sitting a the computer for hours waiting for him to email me back. Hell no. I'd have no idea who Don Regan was, so you know. Day 3 and this year is A+.

The theme for this year's christmas was "let's give sarah truffles." I have so many. I can't look at truffles anymore. Good ones, too. Adam and Amy got me Godiva that are to die for, there a box of neuhaus belgians under my desk that i know will change my life. I actually put one of the teuscher champange truffles in my mouth earlier today, just out of habit, and spit it out. I can't even think about it. I need fruit. Something with fiber, vitamins, protein. I'm dying of malnutrition.


(First one to knock down my awesome set up wins the prize of the day.)