Sunday, December 26, 2010

15 days

I leave for Ireland in 15 days, counting today,

Really. It's wicked crazy. I don't even know how to express the craziness of it. But, I'm wicked excited. And I haven't posted in ages because I'm lazy and sleep too much. But not really, because there's no such thing as sleeping too much.

I'm still not too stoked about the plane ride. I'm worried that I'll magically get on the wrong flight and then end up in Portugal or Oregon or Antarctica. Well, not really. Or sort of. But, no. Really, I'm worried that just something will go wrong and everything will suck, even if only for a while. Rationally, people fly on planes all the time without anything going wrong. But there's always the thought that, what if I get on the wrong flight? And there's no way I can get on another one for ages. And then my luggage gets stolen. And then the plane blows up. Okay. I'm exaggerating, a little. A lot. But, what if? Honestly, it would just be so much more amazing if I could just avoid the whole plane process, and just, somehow... get there.

Someone should work on that. Inventing magic. Or something.

Anyway, I got a camera for Christmas! So, I can actually take pictures. I'm not going to have my phone in Ireland, so it'll be pretty nifty.

Honestly, I can't wait.

Thursday, December 16, 2010


Tomorrow's my last full day on Campus until next fall.

In three weeks, I'll be finishing up all the last minute things for Ireland

A couple days later, I'll be in Ireland. A foreign country in a different continent where everyone has an awesome accent. Everyone who's been there keeps telling me how wicked incredible it is, how they're definitely going back as soon as they can, and they can't wait for that day. It's fantastic and as close to perfect as possible.

But, what if it isn't, for me? Not that I think it won't be amazing, but life is weird. Like, this semester I'm finishing up. I can't even explain it. It's been confusing and dazed and almost lost. It's been hard to put words together, or anything. And for no reason at all, really. Honestly, I don't even know how to explain it.

I'm kind of counting on Ireland to change that, and make everything as amazing as life should be. But what if it doesn't?

I think that's my biggest fear.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

The Human Centipede. Or, my eyes are never gonna be the same.

I'm not really sure why The Human Centipede is called The Human Centipede. If I had made it, which I wouldn't evereverever anyway, I would have called it, "OH MY GOD HOLY CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK OH SHIT MY EYES." Or something like that. I mean, I think it has a pretty nice ring.

True story, don't watch this movie.

There are no words to describe its horrors. But, know that even a compostable bag of sun chips crackling over and over again in your ears wouldn't be enough to silence what takes place in it. Which means that nothing is. Nothing. Don't watch it.

Watching this movie is being like being some sort of Alaskan fish, slammed out of life by Sarah Palin just as you're about to make it to the safe shores of Russia. It's like never finding Nemo. Like being one of Sid's toys in Toy Story. Like living in a world where everyone is Nigel Thornberry, and Nigel Thornberry is a cannibal. Like dying a hundred million trillion and five times in the worst way possible times a gazillion.

It's like being tortured and having your knee caps and teeth removed, your mouth sewn to some dude's ass, and-- OH WAIT.


Tuesday, December 7, 2010


I have some questions about this one. Mostly, is it good? Also, is it too dramatic? Do you think the first half of the third stanza is okay? I'm thinking of changing it, but I haven't decided what I would change it to even if I do. Anyway, the more advice, the better!


She gasps in gusts of damp pine needle air
for breakfast.
She says, reciting on a static loop,
It’s better this way.
This way, she can only taste the Earth,
the soft, sopping, cradling, zero calorie zero fat sky and trees and dirt.
She says that that's enough but her eyes
don't agree.

And she falls,
she crumbles, flutters whenever
an attack of cooking wind blows near her.
Gingerbread houses, she thinks,
and fights to keep her breath from leaving her throat.

She can’t stop her hands from shaking
or her mind.
At night she quivers delicious nightmares.
Her heart wanders dreams to cushiony bread soaked in olive oil
and zesty garlic. Bowls of pink
and chocolate ice cream. Cheese sliced so
thin it melts over her tongue in seconds.

Artichoke Hearts
PeanutButter WhippedCream

She says indulge is the most terrifying word
the one that makes her fists pound,
beat at her mirror.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Nigel Thornberry. Nnnghjshsnort.

Lately has been ridiculous. In someways awful, in someways not awful, and in someways just weird. In lots of ways really confusing. I'm not going to go to in depth, because this is the interwebs and stuff, but it was the kind of week (well, the end half of it) where everything felt blurred and impossible. Like, true story, wednesday felt like tuesday and thursday combined, while thursday felt like wednesday.

Oh, and I saw some guy sleeping on a roof, in windy, 20 degree weather.

And we still haven't had actual snow. The fuck, right?

Well, I'll leave with the parting words of the immortal and smashing (poppet) Nigel Thornberry, "Ngnnggisdffff."

*Not my picture. The interweb's picture. Though it is my facebook profile picture. I think there's a striking resemblance.