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#32
"Fit" i am tired of pacifiers i constantly suck twice and let fall these lip-sank rock shows best-selling yelling books bottle formula radio pop and the same movie over and over i haven't got use for my giveaway faces flailing arms heavy legs and burning eyes and i forgot how to use you me us and them and all the different combinations thereof i keep sucking up the same fumes twice and i can't do this sit, roll over, wake up anymore so and so and so and so here's a treat: a trip to the beach that part of the world that is away from the world everything is better at the beach. everything is at the beach. land and water spaces and crowds sky and depth time and no time you and me and the private screening of a meteor shower allows for a thousand wishes but i only have one that runs a thousand times and this is the x, y, and z of the space-time continuum of what it all means where i find out that the spaces between your fingers were meant for mine. meant for mine. meant for me. and having finally found my "meant for" i can return to a pacifier's subsistence. walk the empty space between the crowds with the ghost of your hand in mine. 28aug03/thursday/10:58pm #31 Katie's last day of summer was celebrated/mourned out of state. We drove around Lake Michigan to the side directly opposite us and spent the day at (the?) Warren Dunes. Lisa, Katie, and I conquered the largest dune in a very slow, whiny way with a lot of stopping for breath. Our feet sank in nearly as far as we took a step and the angle of the stupid thing was close to vertical halfway to the summit. All the movies with "stranded-in-the-desert" scenes became much more vivid. Katie also mentioned that in the desert everyone ends up walking in an eventual circle since bi-peds naturally put slightly more weight on one foot. After jumping off the steeper sections of the hill (it feels like you're jumping off a cliff, but you just land in more sand) and running the rest of the way down, we lost interest in going back up and took to the lake which was the god opposite of the dune and freezing. We'd found this little yellow frisbee ring on the way in, and we tossed it over each other's heads for about a half an hour. Slowly, as we each lost feeling in our limbs, we retreated to the shore. Lisa and I went back eventually and played in the waves with/like a bunch of children. Everyone else slept or read in the sun with/like adults. A barbecue followed, and we charred our food slightly more than we had our bodies. A great day all in all. 25aug03/monday/6:07pm #30 Remember entry #28? No? Scroll down a bit. Well, here, because I know you like pictures. Skip along to the nocostforculture site too for the dramatic conclusion. 22aug03/friday/8:02pm #29 This is all I have for you right now, but it's good. Here is an excerpt from the phone conversation I just had with my nine year old brother: John (in a sort of jaded but not indifferent monotone): How are you? Laurel: I'm good. How are you? J: Fine. Wanna hear a knock-knock joke? (He ALWAYS does this. I think the only reason he even asks how I am is because my mom probably told him it was impolite to just rush right into the knock-knock jokes.) L: Yeah! (I don't know where he gets them.) J: Knock knock. L: Who's there? J: A little boy who can't reach the doorbell. Ha! Ba-dum-bum! He's such a strange little kid. He's like the love child of Charlie Chaplin and a door. If you ever get the chance to meet him, you'll understand. He's so great. One time, back on Guam, Marian and I were driving around with him, and I think we offered him some sort of junk food or something, and the kid (he must have been six at the time) said, "No thanks. I have to watch my sodium intake." SODIUM! INTAKE! Ack! I love him so much. 03aug03/sunday/12:39am #28 Did someone ever throw you into the air as a kid? Last night, for me, was like that one second that you're completely airborne. On my way home after work I stumbled into this fashion + art show called The Freedom Festival . The fashion show took place on the roof of the gallery which looks up slightly at the Blue Line Damen stop. Atypical models went fucking mad on the catwalk in the latest terror-alert ensembles. One outfit consisted of dozens of gold-painted Clorox bottles cut-up, stacked, and glued together to create this weird science fictiony robo-warrior. Another series involved four pedestrians who were able to hide from the cops in their respective fashionable luggage pieces. But, oh my God, the last designer's concept and execution floored me. Five guys in capes and tighty-stripeys came on the walk just in time to appall another trainload of CTA passengers who were stalled on the tracks above us. They scouted around the crowd then jumped into it making us back away from the stage. Two girls came out wearing functional televisions over their heads. They walked to the edge of the stage, faced each other and began flipping each other's channels, staring vacantly into each other's screens. The announcer began talking about love and complacency. Where was love? Where was love? Oh. Here she comes in an evening gown of fireworks. The t.v. girls walk off. A speech I didn't quite catch followed. The half-naked, caped fellows made sure everyone was ten steps away from the girl in fireworks, and then she set herself on fire and it was beautiful. It was the only exhibit I've ever witnessed that physically assualted all of my senses. I never realized how loud the bangs were in real life much less a barrage of them. I couldn't taste or smell anything besides the burning chemical reactions and smoke, and I could barely see through it. So, this was love. I screamed and jumped around. It was the most genuine, patriotic, human thing I'd ever seen. It was one of the few moments in my life when I felt completely connected to something outside myself. The people on the train had all come to the windows and were staring at the weird cross section of kids that were cheering on this now hysterical, smoldering model as her flames were doused by various people with various things. I ran into Gate, whom I hadn't seen in maybe half a year, during the aftermath. He brought me to a party that became the perfect denoument. I suddenly knew how to dance, and everything I said was perfect. As I walked home early this morning, I found four tarot cards, three pennies, the best shower ever, and sleep. 22jun03/sunday/9:59pm #27 Tonight's NEWS: 1.) "How to Glow Like J-Lo" and... 2.) Chicago's new terrorist attack drills. "So far, 14 of our fictitious patients have died..." 14may03/tuesday/1:35am #26 For the "Orange Alert" status we were in, my photo communications teacher brought oranges to class, and we had a communion of sorts. He told us a zen story about a man who was nearly chased off a cliff by a tiger. The man tried to escape by scaling down the side until he saw another tiger waiting at the bottom. As the tree he was using for support slowly gave way, he noticed a strawberry nearby and ate it. Doesn't it feel weird to you? Watching the war on the same television set that brought you Dawson's Creek? Thinking about the show on Saturday a split second later? Thousands Of People Are About To Die And I Need To Feed The Cat. Given a month we will re-orient ourselves into accepting this disorientation. Blah blah blah... Just go. Do whatever it is you have to. Go. 20mar03/thursday/10:27am #25 Slow News Day: It recently has come to my attention that my bunny slippers and my roommate's cat are mortal enemies. The icy stares given by my bunny slippers elicit sporadic pouncing upons by my cat. Tensions mount as my slippers traverse the living room -- the Gaza Strip of my apartment. Loki would go so far as to impose sanctions on the slippers. Such actions, however, would only contribute to his own aggravation as the slippers require no imports (save feet) and export nothing besides the aforementioned stares. "If they bother you, don't look at them," we advise to no avail. Today for breakfast I had graham crackers and milk followed by half an infomercial and leftover Bacardi (used to swallow a Centrum Performance pill). Rum and a multivitamin: breakfast of champions. 18mar03/tuesday/6:18pm #24 Also, I wanted to put up an image. It's out of nowhere because I haven't really taken anything good lately. At least this one's interesting. jesus on the train  16dec02/monday/8:34pm #23 So, I'm always online and not paying attention during this class, right? Today, the teacher comes in nearly half an hour late and says, "I was using the blender in the faculty lounge to make margaritas. Sorry I took so long." At least the feeling of indifference towards/loathing for this class is mutual and understood. Even if it is his fault. 16dec02/monday/7:43pm #22 To: Lynn Okada Subject: i move with the city Message: Everything is here is impatient and fast. I'm constantly pushing myself to get places and turn things in on time. I spend my free time sleeping, cooking, cleaning, keeping track of my accounts, and shopping for food. I _try_ to spend my time taking advantage of the city: going to small venue rock shows or the occasional museum, finding good places to eat and hidden book and record stores. Of course I feel lonely sometimes -- only sometimes because I don't have the time to sit and think about how far away you all are physically and mentally. Our lives are all so separate. This isn't a criticism or a complaint. It's just the natural result of having spent two years apart. I have to admit, Mama, it's hard to talk to people back home. It mostly reminds me of the distance between us, and I'm usually painfully aware of how little there is to say. I'm saying things now, but it's because I can write my thoughts better than I can verbalize them. I'm also braver when I write. I want you to know that I miss you, and I wish we talked more, or that I knew how to talk to everyone better. Sometimes when I call, I can hear that you, Lola and I want to say things, convey some sort of feeling or relate to each other something about where we are in our lives, but for some reason we can't. While I'm being brave though, I'll let you know that I'm having a good time. Money gets scarce, roommates become difficult, the weather is unpredictable and harsh but living here is still like an incredible experiment, and I'm still strong enough to be amazed at the variants. I miss the kids, but you don't have to tell them. Tell them to smoosh their faces with their hands while saying OH, you're so cute! and tell them it's from me. And kiss them and Lola for me, please. Take care of yourself, Mama. Love, Laurel 09dec02/monday/11:38am #21 Of note, the last three entries have been at monday night between 6 and 9 pm. Guess who has a class that isn't very interesting. 11oct02/monday/8:02pm #20 To have your heart broken without the breaker even knowing... isn't that the worst? Gotta be in the top five. Actual Fortune from Actual Fortune Cookie: "You or a close friend will be married within a year." Hey, guys! Who's it gonna be? [poke, poke, nudge, nudge...] Guys? 11oct02/monday/8:01pm #19 I had the second best birthday Saturday. It ended with Tracy + the Plastics. SHE makes me double over dancing while I scream and watch infatuated. Rose got to see her for the first time and now we both do impressions of her and laugh. There's always so much pressure for me to make my birthdays into a big deal. I'm glad I have Rose to make them into a big deal for me so I don't feel so egotistical. It was great being able to justify not doing my homework or leaving my bed. Although, I don't think I could stand to hear another sporadic rendition of "Happy Birthday" for another year. random definitions: heaven = free art supplies and cake all day in a gigantic tree house heaven on earth = listening to your brand-new, happy birthday sleater-kinney one beat album in the back kitchen away from the cuss-tomers and constant pointless consumerism at Borders. 21oct02/monday/7:52pm #18 Is it evil to read your inbox, enjoy the mail you got and not reply? It is, isn't it? I just started school again, though! And, I work every night except Saturdays which, as of late, I spend packing. And, I moved today, and tomorrow I will move some more. Forgive me. I love you? After I pack my computer, I will unpack it in my new place and you will see pictures from the stoop sale, clothes that my lola sent me that I tried to sell at the stoop sale and pictures from Rose's gig at the House of Blues. I love you. 30sep02/monday/6:09pm #17 Fishcakes, Nomie, I think about my lola ironing creases into my P.E. pants at least once a week, each time hoping that you and Marian don't remember my saying, "No, she doesn't! I swear they come out of the dryer that way!" I think one of the first things I did when I got home that day was tell her that the kids at school were teasing me about having my pants ironed. She said I should always try to look presentable. I figured she hadn't been paying attention to the current grunge-look trends and firmly instructed her not to ever, ever iron my pants again. I miss her. Also, everyone, if you're in the Chicago area around Bucktown/Wicker Park, I'm having a Stoop Sale this Saturday. 1824 N. Honore St. (between west North Ave. and Cortland and north Ashland and Damen). Do it! I'm sellin' shirts from Guam and other clothes that can no longer be found at the Salvation Army! I'm selling a conga drum, books, art supplies and maybe art! There will be lemonade (hard, for the afternoon lushes) and music from a tiny boombox! Fun will be had by all. 26sep02/thursday/10:35pm #16 Omigod, omigod. People signed my guestbook! I'm gonna pee! I'd stopped checking it in August because it made me feel bad... Hey, Nomie. Your link is better now. Sorry boot that. I update early in the morning when everything's all blurry. And, thanks for the prayer. When I read your blog, I kept smiling really big. With teeth! Oh yeah, and... HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! One of my favorite memories of you comes from back in junior high when you repeatedly made Mr. Abel 1) roll his eyes and then 2) give up on us, or sometimes 3) send you somewhere. Like the hall or the library. I've always felt that you were a major contributor to the final state of our class' relationship with him. Do you remember how after a while he simply left his book open to the highlighted parts and later began reading off the exact questions for our exams? But, hey, who can forget "Eli Whitney -- cotton gin"? Another memory of note: M-n-N Novelties. Sixth grade entreprenuers. Highlights include the "Reading adds PIZZAZZ to your life!" (or something) library poster and the Fredrick Pedroso off-shoot business where he tried to sell broken calculator cells in competition with your popular confetti packs. Although, I always felt bad that there was no "L" in M-n-N Novelties. Then again, I think I only made Mario Bros. bookmarks for the company, and they didn't really bring in any new revenue. I'm glad you're here, Nomes. xoxo 25sep02/wednesday/4:21am #15 ::Hey! I'm getting pretty good at this updating thing!:: I wrote this at work today: I have another half hour left on my break. The whole shift prior, I'd been a total bitch. My boss expects me to do the job of two people (preferrably three) and the customers don't understand why I take so long to make three cappuccinos. I don't know how to spell that. The reflection in the window I'm sitting next to shows people on the down escalator, but the escalator's invisible. It just doesn't reflect. It's like watching customers slowly fall from the sky. God forbid. All downtown Chicago needs is more shoppers. I think it'd be great if after reaching a certain limit of consumption, a person's next step would take him or her on a holy, cosmic up escalator into the heavens where he or she could sit fat and happy for all eternity. If instituted now, a vast majority of Americans would be gone within the next few days -- some, the next few seconds. A vast majority of Somalians would be here for a millenium. At the going rate anyway. Maybe, once people caught on they would try to live simpler, more peaceful lives, eat less and bike more often. More likely, they would try to find a way around the holy, cosmic escalator. *** Today, this guy with only a portion of his arms past his elbows came to the cafe. He bought a chicken salad sandwich and was looking for something to drink. I gave him a sample of the "Chai Freeze." It's like a chai slushee. A conversation ensued: Him: "Hmm. Does this cause birth defects?" Me: "Um, n-no." "Because I only drink things that cause birth defects! Why should it be that only a handful of people in this world are born without arms or legs? Imagine a world with hundreds, thousands of amputees!" "Maybe then the world would be a more amputee-friendly place...I guess." "No. The world's a lot more complicated than you think. Look at the Hispanics. There are millions of them here, and how many of them get their rightful place on American television?" He shook his head. "It changes with every generation though. I mean, look at the disabled kids today -- they're kickin' ASS!" I could only nod, agree and try to sound intelligent and then ruin it all, having to ask him what kind of chips he wanted with his sandwich.  miss you. it's getting colder out there. got off of work at 12:18am. twelve fucking eighteen a m. on the way home, i avoided the suspicious (re: everyone) and came home to... the cat. i'm going to eat a chocolate and go to sleep. 25sept02/wednesday/2:23am #14 I. that night was a great night. i see her and i see possibility in a 60 minute stretch. i am unabashedly dorky around her and i don't know how long that will be okay. you know, tolerable. so far the rock shows the art shows and the MCs have all been a sucker punch for me in the way that Christmas always is. and i wanted to someday tell her that for all the things that get me down these days, for all the absent lovers, lonely mothers, and concrete beneath my tired feet -- she picks me up. a good friend's a good thing. A. electronic mail is the cool, faceless medium through which my mother has finally told me she loves me without qualifiers or reprimands -- or at least not many. i am remembered daily she says and these back and forth post-it notes are quality time. she finally dares to tell me something and sends it, irretrievably. something she thought. the best of her thoughts to me. B. lola opted that this be her last year of life. no more surgery. leaving it to the lord, she says. she plans it to be the year i graduate. the administration of columbia college chicago, however, is unaware of this and i cannot get any more classes. II. that night couldn't have been better except that you weren't there. and, because you were not there, it was lacking -- lacking something to which i am fiercely connected. there was a sadness to the end of the night that had nothing to do with the party being over. it was an incompleteness. like a one-eyed child. that's how i know you are the one. 24sep02/tuesday/11:56am #13 Rose has left the continent for a while. It's her parents' 25th wedding anniversary so we scavenged up a plane ticket, and, well, now she's there. The night before she left was not sad. A very "Chin up!" kinda night. I brought her to the airport at 4:30 in the morning and sat around just kind of staring at her. Even before she left I could feel what this would be like. The whole city's incomplete. On the way home, the streets were vacant. It was still dark, and I was scared as shit. A few nights prior, Lisa and I had exchanged self-defense strategies, and I used one. I spat really loudly at least twenty times from the train to my apartment. It's supposed to make one look tough, I think. Un-rape-able. The funny thing was that there was probably no one on the streets, and I looked less like tough and more like dumb. Last night Lisa and I went to this open mic and had our respective heads blown off. Key to the night was: -- the guy who freestyled about how, yeah, we're down here rhymin' and listenin' what, like every tuesday? every sunday? he lives it every day. he talked about how he can't get out of his southside life. can't support his girlfriend because the best he can do is barely survive. and how he knows rappers whose parents pay their rent. how TWO of his friends were gunned down last month alone. how no one has his back. and how that's just the way it is. who he is. -- the girl who said her cold bathroom floor was more real than you ever were, and that if, in this life, all she ever has are pain, hooks, and tile that's fine. -- stillblack3 (i think) who "hates the middleman, such a littleman" who stands between poets and people and God and man who sells things others created and tells you how to make your art. I was exhilarated. But totally, totally incomplete. 23sep02/monday/4:52pm #12 Now, if you'd like, you can click on the Breeders picture or here to see a bigger version of the results of multiple substance abuse. I still love them though, and I will be here to help them get through it.  Further updates: I saw my little cousin Kurt(is) last month as well. It was sort of strange seeing him again. It's safe to say that the family will not mistake us for each other on the phone anymore. As kids, I occasionally kicked his ass around the house, and he always kicked my ass at Street Fighter II (and Street Fighter Alpha, Mortal Kombat I and II, Tekken [all versions] and eventually every video game we owned or rented except Mario Paint in which one's ass cannot get kicked and in which he quickly lost interest). Together, we built futon houses and made bad food. We had several "secret" clubs (complete with homemade membership cards!) that were both formed and forgotten in a single weekend, but we were always either President or Vice President and no one else could be members. And there are still dirt trails we forged with our bikes that younger cousins and siblings now ride. That childhood was/is what we have in common, and I had no idea what our meeting would involve. There was too much catching up to do. Too much had changed around and about us. In the end, none of it really mattered. Things went fine. He's still a great kid. Rose and I spent the day trying to show him Chicago. It was kind of difficult since I only know three Chicagos: the 21+over shows and bars Chicago, the shopping = fun Chicago and the introverted "library-bookstore-go home and read" Chicago. I heard from a fourth party (my dad said that his mom said) that he had a great time though, so I guess we did okay. 16aug02/friday/3:08pm #11 
Okay, so a lot has gone on. I'll update chronologically (and, of course, very, very slowly) beginning with early last month: I saw the Breeders Title TK show at the Metro. Well, I wasn't disappointed (scared Kim Deal was just going to keel over during each song, yeah, but not disappointed). Imperial Teen was gorgeous fun too. They did sort of a bland, not all-rockin'-out kind of show, but their songs were infectious and they were crowd friendly. So I liked them overall. Missed Bratmobile entirely. Oops. But, that's what I get for walking to the show. The picture above is Kelly Deal (right) showing Kim the chords for "No Aloha." Yow. 12aug02/sunday/12:46am #10 Okay, for everyone who was reading black text on a black background, I apologize. Never, ever trust AOL to give you an accurate picture of ANYTHING. #9 I think it's funny how you can tell how anal I am about things getting online correctly by looking at the little Maybe it's not funny. 16july02/tuesday/2:47am #8 All three of the people who have signed the first guestbook I have owned since my christening have excellent karma, great bone structure and the chance to win ONE MILLION DOLLARS!! Well, no, not the money part of that last sentence, but, by God, if I had a sweepstakes of some kind going, they would definitely be finalists. I spent the past couple of days in the Outskirts. Catfight was having some kind of Suburbia 2002 tour. This update is from the day before all that: Rose was in Palatine for band practice, so I wandered the city. I was kinda productive. I applied for a barista (re. COFFEE MAKER*) position at Border's on State St. I really don't want to work for a big corporate store, but I'm unemployed and would rather take money from them than the city and all of you. Maybe I'll be able to justify stealing from them to balance out working for them. No, Rose would hate me. Anyway, the afternoon came and went mostly without a highlight. I wanted to see this Japanese pop culture exhibit at the cultural center, but it wasn't up yet. I headed home. On the way back, I printed out some business cards at CopyMax. As I was walking out, Claudia came out of the adjacent kwik-e-mart and showed me her issue of While You Were Sleeping with Puffy AmiYumi on the cover. We talked about work, ex-work, comfortable undergarments, etc. Before we parted, she suggested I stop by Quimby's, which I did. And, that is where things got better. This is Liz eating the blandest lunch ever. 
Isn't that the most appropriate expression for eating bland food you've ever seen? Yes! It is! After uplifting conversations with both her and Hannah about magalogs, prog rock, David Sedaris and comics, it was time to say goodbye. I then experienced the most dramatic free mint opportunity I have ever had. It was almost like a ritual beautifully refined by tradition. Witness the magic in this digitally-rendered photographic essay. Also: 
And, more on that later. *"Baristas" are the only people in the food service industry pompous enough to insist upon such a stupid job title for doing dumbass things like frothing milk. I would know. I froth milk. 16july02/tuesday/2:44am #7 Marian, I don't think I like these guestbook and tracking thingies. They just make me feel bad about myself. Marian, Sign my guestbook. Ha ha. That was cheap. I know. Okay, I guess as long as I'm updating I should legitimately update. 
I was out in the suburbs for the last four days. Rose had a gig at this July 4th carnival and another one at Nellie's yesterday, so we just stayed at her bassist's house. Being in Palatine (not Palestine) (ha ha) was a lot like being on Guam. The dress code is more laid back. In the city-city, the most dressed down people get is khaki shorts and leather sandals and strappy something or other or ringer tee depending on temperature, gender or flaming homosexual tendecies. In the suburbs, you get more cut-offs, Ozzfest 2000 tour shirts (just in time for Ozzfest 2002), muscle tees and mullets. See? Like home! Julie and I made Dave and Rose ride the Zipper. It wasn't pleasant. No vomit or anything, but lots of swearing and screaming and nailmarks in the restraints. 08july02/monday/12:54am #6 
Yesterday afternoon I had a dream that Loki could lip sync opera and that he was tired of us. 03july02/wednesday/1:18pm #5 Fuck. One more thing. Rose and I went mountain biking Friday. It was really funny, but it's best told the way she told Stacie in an email: "Laurel and I saw our first forest today and went on our first mountain bike ride with the clip shoes, gloves, and helmet. My bass player and her husband used to race professionally a few years ago in different countries. Anyways, we went on all these trails but first... Have you ever ridden a bike with pedals that you have to clip your SPECIAL racing shoes to? Okay, if you've never tried it then here's a Big tip: Don't ever FORGET that you're clipped to the pedals because when you're coming to a stop and you forget that you're feet are clipped to those FUCKEN pedals you'll fall like an idiot in front of a really long line of cars and people walking just as I did today (fucken dork). How embarrassing is that? very fucken embarrassing I say!!! then after that I had a fucken blast doing jumps over logs and ditches, speeding down muddy hills except for the other FOUR times I fell over like an idiot with my feet still clipped to those FUCKEN!!!!! pedals!! WAIT!..it gets better. [ed. note: She fell once in the driveway before we left, and then I fell at an intersection. Then she had that aforementioned fall while we were waiting for a train to pass and then again once we got in the woods and then two more times in the woods after that which is what she's talking about here.] The last two times I fell was, one being a no brainer where you automatically know that you have to unclip cause everyone else is coming to a stop and you have to stop too. Luckily the TALL GRASS broke my fall. And then the KICKER... the last fall that I took was from trying to get around a dead tree that had fallen into the path. My tire got stuck and I tried to ride through it, but I just had to fall one last time. I just FUCKEN had to. This fall wasn't like any other fall. I tried to get through it but I couldn't, so I turned the front wheel to the left and then I fell into the handlebar that stabbed the shit out of my shoulder which was already hurting. I'm so broken and sore it's actually funny..." Isn't she adorable? We're going to do it again this week! 01july02/monday/3:45pm #4 Oh, I forgot to tell you about this one thing that happened at the MCA (see entry #1). Okay, go to the last picture on the photos page. See the park with all the trees across the street from me? This group of punks comes walking out of there at like 6:30 in the morning -- half an hour before the Summer Solstice thing starts up again. They turn right. This girl in an olive-colored strappy gown with gold lace trim is trailing them by about twenty feet. They call her to catch up. She doesn't turn. She starts coming up the steps. I pretend not to notice her even though she's coming straight toward us, just like I pretend not to notice anyone who looks like she's looking at me (because what if she isn't? You look like an ass, that's what.). I figure she's got museum access (she looked like she could have been in a play they did with fairies or something) and she's going back in for something. Her hair is brown and slightly wavy, loosely pulled up with the same baby's breath she's got in a bundle in her arms. She gets less than three feet away and is looking directly at me with these big grey eyes. I say hi and wait for her to ask us a survey question or something. She doesn't respond. Instead, she bends down and kisses me on the forehead, moves slightly sideways and does the same to Rose. Then she turns and starts walking away. We're both wide awake at this point. I say thank you for lack of anything else to say or do, but she keeps walking. We suddenly realize we should get a picture of her, even if it's of her back, but by the time I get out my camera and shoot she's gone. God, it's just like a fairy to disappear when you want some proof. 01july02/monday/3:35 #3 Germ, queercore retail 
The other day, Rose and I were shopping in the Lakeview/"Boystown" area. Here, we met Germ -- your friendly neighborhood shoe salesman. See him make his heart pump! Go to his website and see him, his band and (more than) his fishnetted ass! RAWK!! 01july02/monday/3:07pm #2 This book I'm reading had ads for other issues in it. One issue titled The End of the English Novel had a picture of a stone angel with her head buried mournfully in the crook of her arm. It made me realize I didn't want anything like that near me when I'm dead and buried. So, I wanted to make it known that when someone has to pick a marker for my grave I want one of four things: 1) a grave-shaped bed of pansies planted on the site 2) a giant, red plastic dinosaur (over time it will fade to PINK in the sun!) 3) to be fed to lions 4) to be cremated and used to spell "FUCK" or my initials in giant letters on a hill. It's 5:40, are you still up? AIM: "aftermathgeek" When I was five, I remember being up like this because my mom worked the graveyard shift at the hospital. I used to sit in bed and stare at my closet or adjust my sheets a lot. Then, I'd call my mom, and she'd say to listen to the radio. I'd get the big, boxy transistor radio from out of the bathroom, turn it on and hold it to sleep like it was the last teddy bear on earth. I wish that still worked. 26june02/monday/5:53am #1 22 June 02 [Saturday] 9:47 PM Why simply update when you can create anew ? Welcome back. Guess who's: a.) unemployed. b.) on summer break. c.) decided that summer-break-short-term-unemployment is highly underrated. d.) all of it a, b and c, all of those letters. Me! (And the answer is d) Yep. I'm staring unemployment in the face and kissing it like Bugs Bunny in drag. My boss owes me a couple of paychecks, so I'm just sittin' back collecting money from the man (not THE Man, mind you, no sir). At 3am, Rose and I went to the highly-touted Museum of Contemporary Art Summer Solstice all-nighter. Here are some pictures I took while we sat outside the locked doors waiting for the stupid thing to start again. Sorry about the wait. March 5th 2002 align equals RIGHT. addendum (are these supposed to come after all the writing?): hey, marian! elves are hot, right? elves are hot! 21DECEMBER2001 island girls to the left thank you michelle for the heading so, it's one of those winter breaks that my school gives 1) because it is the LAW and 2) in order to make us feel guilty and lazy for not having done all our projects and prepared for finals. phuc YOU, dudes. i'm spacing out as we speak. dreams for the future besides matching her and her motorcycles for me and Rose: 1) i'd like to be in a band again. i want to get one of those keyboards that you hold like a guitar and GEEKROCKOUT! (read that "geek-rock-out" not "gee-krock-out) 2) i want to do more art things. like make clothes and bags and journals and comic books and zines... you know? 3) i want to be a hobbit with a magical ring and an indomitable spirit on a quest to unite the kingdoms of middle earth and vanquish evil. aside from that, the breeders have rehabbed and reunited. they play here in chicago in february. they were my first secular music love. i played last splash over and over and over and to this day "divine hammer" sporadically plays in my head. but, i'm scared. i mean, you know, what if they suck now? how disillusioned would i be? how crushed? where would i turn??? the strokes? could i? is it okay to like them yet? have you heard that they were contrived by the same masterminds behind nsync? it's true. oh, rose and i saw lord of the rings last night. i can't say i'm anticipating the potter sequels half as much as watching this again. hmm. i'm at work right now looking over at rose who found a picture of a gibson sg gothic online and is now tracing its outline with her finger. GOD, she breaks my heart. please, please, please somebody tip me $1K before christmas. 
dammit disclaimers: 1) i apologize for taking Phuc's name in vain. 2) that thing about the strokes may or may not be true. i heard it from somebody last month, and have used it to annoy david, my coworker, since. DEC.THREE.OH.ONE breakfast of first runners up (1) expired muffin (2) a glass of water I now have, within arm's reach, the greatest girl in the world. Rose was, in my head, scheduled to come back Dec. 1. Saturday. I go into work Thursday night to (ahem) "work on a flyer" with my boss. I walk through the doors, and everyone's like "Hey, Laurel, what's up?". I tell everyone, repeatedly, "I'm supposed to work on a flyer with Leigh..." and don't understand why everyone keeps asking what's up. Jon tells me to go help someone access their Hotmail account, and I look at him like "you can't?". He says, "You're better at that stuff than I am." I walk to computer four where the curtain has been drawn and get ready to sit down next to this girl and walk her through the horrors of web-based email. "She's cute..." I guiltily think to myself followed immediately by "OH MY GOD!! ROSE?? OH MY GOD!! NO WAY!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE HERE! OH MY GOD!!" "Surprise," she says. We tumble down into the booth, and live happily ever after. I was checking out my own girlfriend... [N.23.1] when you're gone It's kind of scary, but only in that way that your house can get scary when you're the only one up. It's a nice scary. I turn off almost all the lights so you can't really see in. Then, I'll drink steamed milk with sugar and watch the cars on North Avenue go by. I hide when creeps walk past, and later I'll clean up a bit and ride my bike around inside. I eat the sandwiches, bagels, brownies and cookies that will go bad tomorrow. I play soft music really loud, and I sleep on the couch where Leigh, my boss and surrogate mother, will find me and scream, "AAAAH! JESUS CHRIST!" in the morning. Again. I love you. * * * NOVEMBER22.2001 = LONELYLUNCH Today is Thanksgiving and I am too far away from my family to celebrate it with them. So, I am going to buy turkey lunchables, bike to the library, and read about Che Guevara. So there. Also, it is only ten days until I get to tackle Rose at the airport. Nothing else is even close to mattering. ("Mattering"?) AND, AND! My hair is PINK! Now, I walk down the street constantly thinking, "My hair is PINK and yours is NOT and YOURS is not and neither is yours and, well, yours is... But it doesn't matter 'cuz my hair's PINK!" Although, this pink hair thing has brought on two separate references to a cartoon named Cowboy Bebop. I found the website and nearly peed...ACK! She's ME! 
This is the second instance of my finding someone else being me (or, me being someone else or something). This being the first. She's an art student... who... works at a coffee shop! Also, someone told me there are scenes in the game that hint at her being GAY! AAAAAGH!!
>>>FAITH REINSTATER STORY #165<<< SO plans get confirmed, and I am supposed to 1) call Kel & Chris (who are so adorably reunited) to let them know whether or not I caught the 10:20pm train to "Sibley" ("You say 'Sibley!'; we say 'WHERE?!'") 2) catch said train 3) call K & C when I'm there. Of course, none of it went as planned, and I once again believe in God and insurance. Incredible. 9:45 I pick up my skateboard -- full of delusions that by skating I can make it to the Randolph Wabash Metra station in time. 10:40 I didn't. 10:42 Tried to call ANYONE in the 708 area codes. Ameritech decides to be a bunch of li'l bitches and refuses to let me. gonna pop a cap in yo' collective asses, yo... 11:05 I finally take off for Sibley. 11:45 until 12:57 I get there it's dark I'm fucking ALONE. All I see are these little been-here-forfuckingever, vinyl siding suburb houses. It's colder and windier all of a sudden and the only phone on the platform is dead. I look around. Creepy houses made creepier by the moonlight to the left. Car dealerships to the front. Tracks and train going back to Chicago behind me... ("wait, don't go...") And an empty parking lot with a lone phone-booth situated hooker-close to the highway. I exit the station and end up right under a dimly lit bridge (shiver...). I take out the knife Rose bought me (thankyouthankyouthankyouiLOVEyou) and check on the location of my art supply utility blade. I walk with the knife unfolded in my right hand, holding it the way Selita taught me. "If someone comes at me, I will stab at them repeatedly and club them with my skateboard... Yes. That will work...." I say to myself. There's the phone booth in the distance -- 100 feet from the parking attendant shack. I dig for quarters. I have six. And, Jesus Christ, where is Kel's number?! Scared to focus on any one thing that isn't the parking lot, I force a search through my three-pocket bag and my four-pocket coat and my five-pocket jeans and my twenty-four sheet drawing pad, etc. Nothing. Oh my God. All I remember is the area code and the last four digits. Way to go, tard. Stupid, stupid lonely tard. imagined demise scenario #1: She stands at the phone listening to ring after painful ring when she sees a white, windowless GMC van pull up -- the choice vehicle for kiddnappers and serial killers. One comes out and grabs her arm. She clings to the telephone booth's support pole, screaming at the passing cars who assume its just another domestic violence thing and not their business. He pulls at her backpack. She budges not, screaming all the while. Finally, he simply strangles her with the phone cord. As she lies limp on the sidewalk, he pulls off her sweater (the one with the ears on the hood!) and takes off. A voice suddenly comes on over the receiver which has dramatically fallen near her lifeless lips: "Hello? HELLO?! Fuck you." (click.) I think I can skate away from attackers. Maybe. Part II I begin to guess the phone number. And cry. And re-resolve myself to not cry. And cry. Then, I try to call Rob. Not home. I leave a frantic message: "I'm ALONE in an empty parking lot in Si-SIBLEY!! Please, PLEASE will SOMEBODY pick UP." No one does. More crying and lots of cars turning in off the highway checking my level of whoreishness. I'm running low on quarters, and I can't stop shaking or talking to myself. I walk back to the parking attendant shack. imagined demise scenario #2:As she rummages through her bag, a car full of liquored up flannel-shirted, boys don't cry perps-looking guys drives up. Creep A: "Hey, lookee what we got here..." Creep B: "An' what purdy pink hair..." Creeps C, D, E, F, G ad infinitum: "LET'S RAPE HER FOR FUN!" Please, please God don't let me die here... please just do this one thing... like you did all those other one things... Please bless this deserted parking lot. (Sign of the cross even though I'm not Catholic for added Oomph.) I proceed to put on the extra sweater I packed over my coat (too cold to undress and layer the right way), got more quarters out, and walked back to the phonebooth. I tried to guess the missing digits. No luck. I was shaking, tearing, praying, swearing, and dialing out loud. Finally, I tried to call Jason ("the Beav"). Li'l bitches won't let me dial 219 area codes from here. I called him collect three times, and finally, he picked up helped me out called Kel for me and I screamed I love you a thousand times. Chris & Kel live about a mile away from the station. I figured I could defend myself from anything until someone came for me. Yeah! Rob pulled up with Pugsley, Mike, and iforgothisname. I crammed myself between the two rolling ravers in the backseat. <1AM til 5:50AM> Party! <5:50AM til 6:13AM> Waitwaitwait for traintraintrain. Braving the cold much more confidently, if not bitterly. More can be found at my old site. Ciao, bella. HOM : PRE : IMG : LNX : GBK : BIO |
