why are you fixated on this hypothetical transgender attacker?

Thanksgiving? CHECK. Also I learned that the trick to blending the cranberry sauce that you brought home from work with the turkey mole that your boyfriend spent all night making is to eat it on the kitchen floor.

I was home hanging out with my mom this weekend and we decorated all the things. Unpacking terrifying ornaments from the sixties never fails to warm the cockles of my grinchy heart. And in addition to gnomes and balding angels, this year's Woodtick Christmas also features a rotating tree, courtesy of Darryl's dad who built the stand twenty hundred years before I was born. (The actual tree is courtesy of the nice men at the farm down the road who kindly cut a giant tree nearly in half for us. They also kindly let my mom and I stand by their fire while they did all the work and then kindly helped us when we tried to drive away with the emergency brake on. CHRISTMAS SPIRIT.)

DOING CHRISTMASY CITY THINGS.
Which for me includes throwing a temper tantrum at a holiday market.

I really think there's a dead person living in my building. Pun intended andI'mnotsorry. I will be sorry if there actually is a dead person, though. Yikes. There are packages in our lobby that have been there for weeks all addressed to the same person. In all likelihood somebody probably ordered a bunch of Christmas presents online and forgot to update the address in their profile, or something, but the important thing is HOW LONG DO I HAVE TO WAIT BEFORE IT'S OKAY TO START TAKING STUFF. And then if it turns out to be stuff I don't want, can I just put it back downstairs. Please email me your thoughts.

Someone give me a haircut for Christmas. KTHX.

This post isn't a real thing. But I haven't talked to the internet in a while so HI.

I ought to just stop back when I have something to say. And when my brain is not mush as a result of all of everything. I really need to go to the grocery store (because I got my roommates a milk frother and so obviously we are now out of milk) and I really need to eat something of substance and I really need to go finish shopping which I should have done today but I didn't because Netflix and I really blah blah blah. Also my fella is about to be here so I should go put on some deodorant before any of the things get done. Which they won't, I'm going to make him order off of Seamless with me for dinner so I can keep staying in bed. HOLY NOT SAYING ANYTHING STILL.

I'll be back with real things.

I thought Nana raised some good questions.

My gmail inbox and I both need to learn Spanish, evidently. Sorry I started blogging again and only write about my boyfriend, but 1) I'm not sorry and 2) What the hell was I ever talking about before? You want to go back to just cat pictures? and 3) Don't worry, there are plenty more cat pictures.

This morning I got some notices from school about next semester finally, so that's something that's back on my radar. Everything CUNY takes seventeen weeks, I'm learning, and so long periods of time pass without my thinking about school that much. And then all of a sudden I'll remember and get anxiety sternum and have to breathe into a paper bag for a while because, mywholelife. Also, this will be the fourth college I've attended in three years. My roommate/BESTFRIEND (who's getting her MSW at Columbia and is done next semester and spends her days social working babies while I make sandwiches for rich old people and Juilliard students who think that "all the deli counter's a stage") has been telling me about how her friends are applying to super intense phD programs right now. Meanwhile I'm on the phone with my high school guidance counselor trying to sweet talk him into forging my signature for me so I can avoid having to fax anything, ever, because youuuu can keep all your extra steps, Everything That Is Required of Me.

And then of course, as usual, there is that part of me that understands that there is more to life than what school you went to and the hoops you jumped through to go there and what you do for the dollars that keep you in Diet Cokes and thrift shop swag. The part that often wants to break through the concrete and burrow into whatever's under there and be as much a part of the earth as one is meant to. Which would probably kill me because that would mean I'd be breathing in dirt.

Anyway.

I didn't have to work today so after mi novio left for work I was supposed to go meet my friend in Chelsea but I got distracted by the school things and also it takes me a long time to get dressed on days where I'm not being paid to be anywhere. There is a lot of coffee to drink, friends, and a lot of my pores to examine and a lot of ass to drag. So I played with her for a little while when she got home later and ate a lot of the gingerbread men she brought home from Trader Joe's and then I went to midtown to buy dollar earrings from a nice Indian family because for whatever reason (the reason is that I'm bad at not losing things) I have twenty-nine earrings and none of them have partners. And I got really good Christmas ones for my roommates and I to wear to Santa Con this year and I restrained myself from buying all of the everything that was sparkly even though I really, really wanted to. Then I went to some other places, blah blah blah. Also this morning I learned what a "dupe" was, and on my way home I stopped to get the cheap version of the Benefit face powder I'm obsessed with but the Duane Reade by my house doesn't carry it and I didn't care enough to walk any more blocks out of my way. Because waiting for me in the princess house were endless episodes of The Office and more gingerbread men. And I had already been wearing pants for several hours and several hours is enough hours to be wearing pants for when I don't absolutely have to be wearing them. And let's talk about how, yes, obviously the Jim and Pam story line is solid gold BUT. The scene in the fifth season when Pam follows Michael out into the parking lot when he leaves Dunder Mifflin? Right in the gut. Every time.

I'm going to eat some of the massive amount of cilantro I got today and then go to sleep, because work. AND SPEAKING OF WALKING AROUND BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP I forgot to tell you guys that I stepped on a rat. A FUCKING RAT. It was awful. Obviously. I was on my way into work, walking the long way around because I don't know why that's just the way I like to go okay, and out of nowhere (nowhere = pile of trash on the street, probs) something got caught in between my feet and I stumbled a little and kind of half-screamed because I wasn't awake enough for proper screaming so it was more of a scrumble and then the rat screamed too and that's when I realized it was a rat in between the sneakers I had just bought the night before because my chucks just were not cutting it nine hours a day and I started to not be able to feel one of my toes so I had to be a grownup and spend real dollars on sensible shoes even though they're kind of ugly but not really they're just regular running shoes I just have no ankles so I look like your grandma's gym teacher. And so I bolted but also I looked around real quick and I swear to god I saw its little tail snap around the corner of whatever it ran behind. And then when I got to work the only person there yet was a person who speaks very little English and so the only comfort I got for my trauma was in a language that I am not equipped to understand and wasn't really comfort it probably just meant Good morning how are you today my you look a little crazier than usual why are you breathing so heavily that's weird.

But then a few days later I got to eat some rat cake so, worth it.

Not sure why rat cake is even a thing but I'll take it. With a glass of milk, please.

A mountain keeps an echo deep inside.

That's how I hold your voice.

RUMI

It isn't enough (somebody else's words

and some shit from weheartit?)

but it will have to do for now.

I'd write you a hundred thousand books if I could, 

I'd fill libraries with everything and everynonthing about you,

I'd eviscerate rain forests getting it down on paper.

I would, and maybe I will. Probably I will.

Except for eviscerating rain forests; hopefully I will not do that.

Yikes.

Right now though, I'm going to sleep.

Because of sandwiches needing to be made tomorrow.

Important things, you know.

Hold my hand. FOREVER.

<3 div="">

lay hands, expletive!

I'm sorry. But when I decided to eat a tangerine I did not realize I was committing to a goddamn Odysseun endeavor. Nor did I realize that 'Odysseun' was not a word until spellcheck poked holes through my eyeballs with its rude red lines just now. IT SOUNDS RIGHT OKAY. When I set out to eat a snack I want to eat a snack, not bend over my trash can for thirty minutes peeling sticky skin off of a ball of mush. Life lesson, readers: If a produce sale sounds too good to be true, spend that two dollars on candy instead.

SO. Two days off in a row, which happens never percent of the time, means that all of my laundry is done.

Hahahhahaha.

Novio is letting me use his computer and at first I was so scared of breaking it that it just sat wherever he left it, being terrifying and threatening to spill coffee all over itself. But then I remembered that Photo Booth is a thing and got over the fear pretty quick:

Bahahahaha eff laundry. Only not really because all of my work pants smell like things that are unladylike to name so here I come, Baby Girl's Bubbles.

you can tell it's real when balding older men look approvingly on

Guys, I found love down under. Because technically I met him in a basement and also, Mexico.

Also also, as you probably definitely already know, I did not in fact return to Connecticut, ie the fiscally responsible place of residence (relatively), at the end of the summer. Instead! When my friends said, hey, we're going to give up our cute apartment in Astoria to live in Morningside Heights and pay forty million dollars and the blood of our firstborn children in rent every month, I said Yes. I'm in. And now I live in a princess house. Being me is equal parts nice and terrifying because I DO WHATEVER I WANT.

I'm going to try to start blogging again, I didn't super mean to stop doing it to begin with. Emphasis on the try, though. Don't get your hopes up just yet because (1) I'm still in computer purgatory, (2) I haven't had a working camera in over a year and (3) Neither one of those things is a thing which I feel very motivated to change, because at the bottom of my soul I am a poor dirty hippie whose phone still flips and I feel fine about it. However, I will be starting school again soon which will force me to have a computer that works kind of which will mean lots of time blogging instead of schoolworking.

(Side note: This summer I went off the grid for like three weeks and it was kind of awesome.)

Obviously I have seventy hundred sidenotey stories to share with you but you and they will have to wait because actually the only reason I'm on the internet right now is because I wanted to send my mom some pictures of the man I'm dragging home for Christmas so I stole some from my roommate's facebook. And then I stalked Samantha Irby and some other blogs I'm twelve years behind on and then it was 2034 and I woke up with a beard. (Actually just a really itchy face mask that I left on too long. MY PORES ARE SO CLEAN.) And since both of my live-in life partners are away for the weekend I'm making mi guapo novio stay with me here for a change because one cannot get too used to luxury apartments or else one will forget what her real status in life is. And that will not do. Anyway he likes to "leave the house" and "do activities" so I should probably go "take a shower" and "be a human." Or at least powder my face into oblivion until I closely resemble something that might have been human at one or more points.

So I miss you, sort of, blogger & co. Seeyouagainsoonmaybe. In the meantime, here are some irrelevant pictures of me in costume (only one of the occasions was Halloween)/taking pictures underground because waiting for trains is boring/me being really really extremely photogenic and not ruining any picture ever:

If Wilma, Pebbles & Dino had access to Target, North Face & Old Navy then they'd have worn sweatshirts, too.

I'm so fucking attractive you can't even deal with it.

I thought this picture was us getting photobombed but apparently we knew those guys? I prefer to believe the photobombing thing because I'm sure that even if I did know them I didn't like them.

HAIR WRAPS. And yes, I wore it in the world. Like an adult lady.

loveyoubye!

in the forest we are hiding unmarked graves where flowers grow

 

 

 

 

So something you have no reason to know about me unless I've told you, which I probably haven't because secrets/it's weird and once when I told a few people most of them looked worried and this one guy didn't say anything but just hugged me for an uncomfortably long time. And then a few months later we may or may not have made out for an uncomfortably long time. Which actually was in no way connected to the thing I haven't told you yet so let's just. Let's just. Let's.

 

Riding the train makes me cry sometimes. That's all I was going to say. Not all the time, but something about the people or the vibration or the blurs out the window, just, something, anyway once in a while I find myself getting teary-eyed for no real reason. I guess you might have already known I have a little bit of a train fixation, actually. But you didn't know about the crying thing I bet. And now you do.

 

When I started typing this, I had a very clear idea about where I was going and it was definitely connected to the picture of Homer up there. No idea where we are right now.

 

Today I didn't have to go to work and instead of spending it catching up on sleep (which actually probably I should have done, even though I don't think you're supposed to do that I think you're supposed to just go to bed and wake up at the same times every day, but WHO LIVES LIKE THAT, honestly) I got up early and washed my laundries (wait is 'laundries' really a word or is it spell check's day off, too?) and took out student loans and cried into my Snuggie for forty-five minutes about it.

 

And then I got my shit together and went to the grocery store for provisions for a special lady's second Welcome Home dinner in two weeks. Because what I lack in the Doing All of The Things Department I make up for in the Being A Clean Roommate Who Cooks Dinner And Doesn't Judge Others Too Harshly for Crying About Wanting to Be a Cat's Mom. Which is good because I don't need to be judged for bringing home drifters/bros. So.

 

Yesterday marked the beginning of Turn-Around Week in terms of the things I put into my body. It's been more than a little bit out of control lately, and I haven't gained fourteen hundred kilos or died or anything yet but. BUT. And I really, really really have no excuse because I am surrounded by healthy, delicious things at work and in life so I need to start eating those things instead of trying to run on Zebra Cakes and Sugar Free Red Bull, otherwise known as Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner of champions, also known as what you can go ahead and list under "Cause of Death," Mr. Coroner.

 

Why would the coroner be reading this, Lindsay?

 

Actually if you are a coroner that's kind of cool.

 

Do most people write blog posts in advance? And edit them? And write about Things instead of obsessing about death and emotional episodes triggered by public transportation? Part of my problem is that I don't know where to begin talking about the things I'm doing right now. And I feel like if I elaborate on one part without mentioning everything else that's going on, too, I will be painting an extremely misleading picture. So meh.

 

My eye sockets feel like they're stuffed with cotton today.



it's not illegal to be a felon

Well, well, well. What do we have here? THE END OF JUNE ALREADY.

How did this happen. Who LET this happen.

If you happen to have noted the absence of nonsense on this part of the internet lately and have been staring at the ceiling at night, wondering and worrying and yearning, allow me to put your mind at ease - I am not too busy being a contributing human (well, I have been contributing a lot of sandwiches and jokes so there are those things) to blog. NOPE. Just making lots of poor life choices. And poor nutritional choices. And really, really enjoying it. Because of course by 'poor' I mean 'awesome' and 'hilarious.' Also I have been hanging out with this guy a lot:

True story. And I know it's kind of hard to tell when I mean things for real but this is one of those times. Not like the time earlier today when I told my boss I put meat juice in all of the vegan salad dressings to make them taste better. Although seriously, vegan things? Taste better. Oreos can do it. Step it up, everything else.

Want to hear another true story? There is an empty box of Whoppers next to me right now. I'm supposed to be Doing Things, not just Eating Whoppers and Not Wearing Pants Because I'm Inside. But it's fucking hot outside and I've done enough Things the last few days to last forever, including a few things that I keep remembering I did and having to put my head down for a few minutes wherever I am.

(Whoppers = Not Vegan, Either. But you do get your daily dose of sorbitan tristearate, I just checked.)

Just stared into space for eight straight minutes. Time to get up and be a person.

Riiiiight

now

.

as soon as i started entering this title a beautiful woman walked in the door with cake

So I started to post like two weeks ago:

I have TOO MANY JOBS. Also just Oprah. But mainly the jobs. [Note: Cut out a longish rant about reading Oprah Magazine; maybe should let all my posts stew in drafts for weeks before publishing] I'd been carrying around this cold fear in the bottom of my tummy area that I wouldn't be able to find a job and then I couldn't afford to live amidst the skyscrapers and dollar pizzas. And part of me kept returning to that fear and finding it a relief. Part of me was nurturing my fear, cuddling it like a little baby kitten and feeding it kitten treats and snuggling its soft kitten furs and doing all I could to encourage it to stay, Stay little fear kitten, and live inside of me forever, because as long as I am busy catering to you I am not doing anything that might require, you know, anything. And this particular fear kitten had/has a lot of components; living in a place that is absurdly expensive on a less-than-reliable income, living with/entering into financial situations with bfffffffles and potentially putting strain on the bfffffl status, living close to someone I think I might like to the point where I really ought to just try and find an internship in an antacid factory because nausea, etc.

And then I got offered a full-time job and I took that shit, even though my intention was to work only enough hours to finance my quasi-adult summer. My intentions were garbage though because, as you know or maybe did not know because you do not listen when I tell you things and/or you are maybe not so good at reading in between lines and making inferences, I am not the most awesome at money and forgot that I have kind of a major trip to make/pay for in October, I have to buy a new computer, and I have to pay for like nine wedding presents. So between selling folks eleven dollar miracle elixirs/building folks fancy free-range sandwiches/learning kitchen Spanish, snuggling the faces off my lady frands, and batting my eyelashes in the general direction of trouble I forgot the internet was a thing again.

This is a quiet moment, a type of moment that I do not have an abundance of right now, and so I am thinking. And what I am thinking is this: How many times in one day is too many times to go to the bodegs? What was the mom in Mommy Dearest's problem with wire hangers? (I just finished hanging all of my clothes on some; they are happy to not have to live in a suitcase anymore but I hope wire hangers aren't somehow worse.) Does running around for nine hours and sometimes picking up marginally heavy things = gym membership? Is that smell the new candle I contributed to the coffee table or my deodorant? How long have I had to pee for, because I feel like a second ago I didn't have to go at all and now I REALLY HAVE TO GO.? How many episodes of Teen Mom 2 is it okay to watch in a row? Is working all day an excuse for bad TV behavior? How about the fact that no one else is home and so it will remain your secret shame? Should I put a picture in this post?

I just lost twenty minutes on weheartit. I'm going to pee and if on that journey I somehow accidentally wind up in the corner store buying more string cheese and chocolate milk then that just is what it is and you can save your disdain for someone who doesn't spend forty-five hours a week at the gym. OKAY.

moon river (which might have been cute if I were Audrey Hepburn but I am not so it was just weird and alarming)

[source]

 

 

So many people, bloggers especially, insist on their own awkwardness.

And I'm not saying I don't believe you (...) but I am saying

that there's "Oh lolz that was awkward" and then there's punch-you-in-the-gut,

keep-you-awake-at-night, soul-cringing awkward. There's funny awkward

[Insert screenshot of any face made on The Office ever here], yeah. Which

makes it worth it to be truly awkward because you get to experience/

are able to appreciate things that so many people don't even notice which is stupid

of them because awkwardness is way better/way cheaper than most other activities.

 

And of course what 'awkward' even means depends on the lens it's being viewed through,

which is why some people can walk around naked and give other people hugs

even though the other people are fully clothed and are trying to do something.

It's also why some things that are so easy and notathing to most people are so hard for some people.

Also because culture.

 

The point of this is that this morning I went up to look at the roof

and drink coffee and enjoy the neighborhood like a bird would

if birds stood on roofs and drank coffee and shivered a little and at first I thought

I should put a brick to stop the door from closing and even picked up the brick

but then something short-circuited in my brain wires and I put down the brick

and shut the door. And then I stood out there for some minutes and then I went to

go back inside but of course I couldn't get the door open. So I remembered

that M had said, Oh, something something, fire escapes, I guess I didn't really

remember what she said that well after all but I looked down and thought I could

probably get to the ground via the fire escape. But it turns out I could not

and the reason I know I could not is because I tried it. And on my way back up

there was a young shirtless man looking confusedly out at me.

And it was not like Breakfast at Tiffany's in the least, mainly because I didn't

have a musical instrument but also because I was wearing pajamas

and some eyeliner that I didn't wash all the way off last night.

I think it was the guy who lives across the hall but I'm not very good at geography,

in any case I might just knock and see if it is him and explain that I wasn't peeking

but that I am just kind of stupid.

 

I have a kind-of interview later on and I am hoping this means

that my awkwardness quota has been filled for the day.



glad i didn't die before i met you

 

CURRENTLY, I am living in squalor. WHERE IS MY BED. Where is it. Where.

 
Trying to Make Time For: Seeing my friends around here. Studying for my last finals. Being a real person. You would think, with three whole days a week now completely free and devoid of responsibility, that I would be getting so many things done. And having adventures. And getting dressed. But you would be wrong, friend of mine. So very wrong. My bed is somewhere in that picture up there. IT IS. I swear. I also swear that there are not seventeen other cats in various states of alive-ness underneath the one cat you can see, even though if you are anything like me you looked at that picture and heard the sound bit from Hoarders. I have a queen sized bed and the space I am utilizing for sleep and not for crap storage is smaller than a cradle.

Should be Doing Instead of Blogging: Memorizing questions for my Spanish oral. That I'm supposed to do in an hour. Only I will bet you my entire checking account* that Senora will not be where she said she was going to be when I go to that place. And the four and a half minutes I'm going to spend furiously flipping flash cards right before I walk down there will be for naught. FOR NAUGHT. Also just remembered have like seventeen other assignments I'm supposed to give to her. What up, google translate. What. Is. Up.

*Don't get too excited. It's pretty bleak. SUZE ORMAN GET IN MY LIFE.

Washing Your Hair?: Bahahahahahhaha ha. hahaha.

Taking Dumb Pictures of Yourself for Dumb Reasons/No Reasons?: Have we met.

 Wishing: That New England would get its act together. Why is spring not a thing here? I guess maybe because we get to have such pretty autumns and the universe is afraid of spoiling us? Whatever, it's fine. And let's be serious, I am in no kind of hurry to put away my grandpa sweaters. No hurry at all. Yesterday morning I sat in the sunshine for twenty minutes, which turned out to be all of the sunshine for the whole day because then it rained ice water forever and I wore fourteen bathrobes and every pair of socks I own and cried. Today it's supposed to be 80 degrees and so I am wearing a dress and bravely did not bring a sweater with me* because of optimism.

*This is not the truth.


Reading: I can't make myself be interested in anything. Which means, obviously, cycling through Stephen Kings for the umpteen millionth time.

Listening to: So I still have Bright Eyes on my iPod. I know. Let's just not talk about it. Let's also not talk about the fact that I still have like a second generation iPod and my phone still flips and YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S VINTAGE, IT MEANS I'M COOL. Except to say, that, listening to these songs now and remembering how connected I felt to the lyrics in high school is a lot of hilarious.

Anticipating: One more week. One more week. One more week.

Wishing:  That I hadn't failed so hard and so immediately at my "Not Buying Any Clothes in May!" idea. Look at me, taking credit for other people's ideas. It was actually this cute lady's idea, sorry I tried to trick you before. Anyway it was a really, really good idea, whoseever whoevers who ever's (how do you say that? why don't I know anything? donde!? por que!) idea it was. (Mine.) (Nope.) Even though my version of "extravagance" is buying something that costs more than four dollars at Savers, when you buy a million things that are less than four dollars that still adds up to more dollars than I have, because of math. (Damn it. I have math to study too. STOP DISTRACTING ME.) And I thought, oh, this combined with not smoking anymore will make me stop having panic attacks about money!

But then I blacked out and bought a pair of sandals. Which, in my defense, I really needed because of not knowing how to walk and therefore all of my other sandals looking like garbage shoes from garbage town.

MORE CAT PICTURES! PLEASE!: Well, fine, you twisted my arm.

it's a trap!

You want to know how annoying it is that I have three days of classes left, but I'm not done until next Thursday? A LOT ANNOYING, IS HOW. But it's fine. I actually can't believe I've been in school for two consecutive semesters. A whole year, guys! And I only spent a teeny tiny bit of it researching ashrams to join in India.

Anyway then summer will be here and I'll be living in the city forever. Or September. Whichever comes first. (I think forever does.)

So I just have to get through this next weekish and the random days off I have in between finals and things that I can't really do too much with. Which shouldn't be too hard and I really should shut up about it because I'll be spending them in the sun on my deck. (Even though I was laying out there yesterday in my "no one is going to see me in this so it doesn't matter that this is basically invisible" bikini and I woke up from my sun-induced doze to a bunch of random men right underneath me ALLEGEDLY "doing work" in my yard. UM WHAT HI. I'M NAKED. So I sort of gathered up the blanket I was sitting on around me Ariel-when-she-first-gets-her-legs style and crept around the corner and back inside the house and waited until they left to go back out again. And then a few days earlier, same situation, all alone in my alone-time bikini, and who drives through waving at me from his lawnmower but my ONE neighbor. Who is basically blind, but still. I was uncomfortable for the both of us. And DON'T tell me to wear more clothes because I won't do it. I will not.)

This was a fake post in which I said a lot of things without saying any thing. And you fell for it. But I still like you.

who suggested a hot dog bake sale

 

The point of this picture was to see what my legs looked like in tall shoes, because while I'm totally good with flashing my stem skin now it hasn't always been that way and I still have feelings of mehr about my sturdy Irish farmer legs. (That came without ankles but in the interest of keeping away from body shaming or whatever I won't bemoan my lack of ankles here. Except that yes I will, because this is my blog and it's not shaming to wonder where the HELL I was when the ankles were being handed out.) So whatever anyway I took a picture to decide whether or not I could wear these shoes in the world. And I realized that sometimes I spend far too many minutes trying to see my physical self the way others see it. That is an unnatural angle for one's neck to be craning in for so much time, friends. And I am sharing this with you because I think, somehow, it would bother me more if I kept it to myself. All secret-like and dust-gathering and gross.

I'm pretty comfortable with my body but I do catch myself measuring it against the standards of some made-up something that I never have been and never will be more times than I am happy with. I remember telling my brother I wished I had his legs once when I was like ten and he was eight and we were laying in the hammock in our yard only by "laying" I obviously mean trying to push each other out of it or make it spin all the way around with both of us inside of it because that is clearly the intended purpose of hammocks. I WANTED THE LEGS OF AN EIGHT-YEAR-OLD BOY. A particularly scrawny one, at that. What in the whatting what. And I don't do that anymore, honestly ever, look at someone else and say "I wish I had their ____." Because that is a waste of wishes, is what that is. And also because the older I get the more I appreciate the reflection of my life that my body is, and also also, let's be honest, I have aged really well. I look good. I mean really good. In fact, why doesn't everyone come and see how good I look? 

Anyway all I'm trying to say is, if you don't see me around in grown lady shoes during these hot months (which I don't believe are ever going to get here for real and stay because I have PTSnowD) it's not because I'm insecure about how they display my lack of ankles. It's because I can't walk in them. And also because my summer project is to trick this man who is only slightly taller than I am down an aisle (any aisle, I'm not picky, but hopefully the cookie one) and if that isn't a good excuse to keep on wearing different-color Old Navy flip-flops and passably-cute Target sandals from like three years ago, then I honestly really don't know what is.

notse from last week's history class (or: i just typed "notes" wrong six times in a row) :

"We are at a crucial point, you and I. At least, the you and I as we exist inside my brain. Or maybe it's only me. Probably it's only me. It's okay that I'm by myself here though because I'm familiar with this place, I've been here before. I come to decide: Do I let this continue?

See, usually by the time I get here I'm already erring on the edge of one choice or another. Rarely has the choice been made for me but I'd be lying if I said it never happened. Today I'm here to ask myself, Where do I think this is going? Where would I like this to go? Only not the second question, oh no, never mind that pretend it never happened because I don't know. And I don't appreciate being badgered this way, Self. The thing is, my life as it is in front of me has a vanishing point that is basically an inch away from my nose. There are some vague, shifty-looking things in my peripherals but these things are too slippery to lay eyes on. Especially because eyeballs are kind of slippery themselves, really there just is not traction going on here whatsoever. Also I suspect that they are being deliberately avoidant, these things. Forward is something to fall into. Backward isn't something I'd consider even if it were an option and remaining stationary presents obvious problems.

I used to not think I was going to live very long because when I tried to picture what my life would be like later on I couldn't do it. When I could, once in a while, conjure up some abstract ideas in which I Did Things and Was a Person it was too much like imagining someone else's life. Which I suppose, you could argue, it was.

Sometimes I play this game with myself that is not really a game at least in the being fun sense in which I try to memorize a moment - no, that's wrong, it's more just acknowledging a moment and what is going on in it and sort of bookmarking it in my brain with the intention of returning to it at a scheduled time. Like, for example, when I am in the car or on the train or walking somewhere, I'll think to myself, Okay. Think about this later while you're doing _____. I've done this ever since I can remember remembering things, who even knows why. Not me. Maybe just trying to manage my awareness of time and its passing, because in general time feels like an enormous wave that's always just about to crash over me."

The person who sits behind me told me he'd spent most of the class watching me draw cats in Paint on my computer and thanked me for teaching him something. When I fill out the survey thing for this professor I'm going to request a portion of her earnings. And also that she never toss a potato at me again.

just remember it all, the beauty as well as the flaws (l-o-v-e l-i-f-e)

A fifteen-minute cab ride is long enough to forget the chill in the air; it’s funny what skin chooses to remember. Walk past a certain building and think, This is the picture of Brooklyn that films and stories paint inside your head. And then you’re where you’re supposed to be, and the number on the chalkboard is dialed, and you climb a staircase and walk through what you’re pretty sure is the apartment you’d be living in if life were fair at all and you’re climbing again - onto a step stool this time - and out a window and down a rickety ladder into candlelight and laughter and the smell of twenty kitchens on one table. No thing has happened before and every thing tastes like a memory.

I’m still me, I still sometimes feel as though mine might be a parallel existence, resembling and trucking along without touching, but more and more (and more) I can identify that feeling as an offshoot of internal dialogue (or something, you know, whatever) rather than as a fact. I still feel sad sometimes for no real reason and I still feel distressingly removed from whatever reality is sometimes and I still struggle just like you and you and you and that other guy. I still expect things from myself that are maybe more than a little bit unreasonable.

All of these things, and more, still. Yes. But. 

 [source]

A lot of lately has been looking around and thinking,
What did I do to deserve this life?

Because all of it, in its imperfect entirety, is really pretty beautiful.

AND I'M SORRY I KEEP TALKING ABOUT THIS but seriously you guys it really feels like my stomach is going to flip itself out of my eye sockets and is that what feelings for somebody feel like? Seriously? If I try to sit really still even for a few seconds my body gets all shuddery and nervous and like, twitches. Which might actually not have anything to do with my love life, maybe that's just a thing. Try it right now, just try to sit perfectly perfectly still and see what happens. I bet you electricity happens. Let me know.

i must be what i must be and face tomorrow

This is what I'm wearing today. It might get all the way up to 60 this afternoon
and I might wish I'd worn a dress, but no I will not because one can always remove clothes.
It's much worse to be cold and not have more clothes to put on.

Can we talk about Forever21 for a minute? GREAT.

I'm pretty sure I've said this a million times before but I get 95% of my clothing from Goodwill. Usually I buy shoes new (not because I'm opposed to second-hand shoes, but because there aren't ever any non-disgusting ones in my size) and obviously I have my underwear custom-made for me. Or if my tailor is booked I buy it at Target. (DIGRESSION: Once I had a boyfriend who offered to buy me clothes when he found out I shopped almost exclusively at Goodwill. I laughed for a long time but I did let him buy me a lot of food. Also once right after I moved to Brooklyn and he'd come to visit, he left piles of quarters around my bedroom "accidentally." Basically he didn't understand anything about my whole entire life. He was very nice though, and a very safe driver, and he loves his mom a lot but not too much, and he built his own house, so if any of you ladies are in the market for a twenty-six-year-old malething to make a baby with I will try and set it up.)

I know I said I wanted to talk about Forever21 and then I didn't. But I'm going to. Right now.

I have vague moral questions about shopping at big box chain stores or whatever it is they're called, but as I think I illustrate here pretty regularly, I don't know shit about shit and so, whatever. As far as I'm aware they're not clubbing baby seals in the warehouse, and also I think the economy is made out of make-believe anyway, and also other things. My objection to Forever21 is not that. But first I have a question: How many of you actually go inside an actual Forever21 to purchase clothes? Do you mainly just use the website, or do you like physically going in there and shopping?

Because I get panic attacks even walking by a Forever21. Well no, that's a lie. I see one and go, "Ooh! There are things that are pretty inside of there" but then the minute I step inside I remember that I hate everything about being alive and having senses. Because the music is always louder than my thoughts are and I always feel like the other customers are shopping with a purpose and know where stuff is and I'm always bumping into someone and crying because I just need the cardigan section, please. Where is the cardigan section? And the dressing rooms are always ROASTING and it stresses me out that the dividers are made out of fabric and I'm afraid I'm going to fall over sideways (a reasonable fear if you are me) and rip everything down. This past weekend I was like two hours early to meet my life partner in Union Square, so I went into Forever21 because I sort of wanted something a little scandalous to wear out. I'll give you a minute to disapprove. Okay. So all of the things I just described went on, plus I had my bags with me so I was in extra-strong knocking-stuff-over mode. Plus all of the girls working that day had on crop tops and I am always fascinated by girls who look good in crop tops because that will be me never, as long as Cheetos keep being a thing, and so in my wild-eyed/distracted/overstimulated state I bought this dress (WITH ALL OF THE DOLLARS I DEFINITELY HAVE):

Only in pink. So anyone who's ever bought a dress at this establishment understands that the models are aliens and in real life nowhere near that much leg is covered. This is not news. This is like, Forever21 101. Well I failed. I really do not know what drove me to take it home, except that if you ignored the fact that you could see my uterus it really was a very pretty dress. And my uterus and I looked AMAZING in it, I'm just saying. So whatever, my misgivings started as soon as I walked out clutching the tiny yellow bag and by that night I was 99% sure that that purchase wasn't the best idea I ever had. And I have had some shockingly bad ideas. So I tried it on again and it was unanimously decided that it looked good, but in a weird Barbie kind of way because I was too worried about shortness to do anything except for stand very still. So I thought, maybe if I size up it'll be longer, so I had my mini friend from a previous SFW post try it on so I could see what it was supposed to look like. AND IT LOOKED AMAZING ON HER. So I killed her. And then the next morning I took it back but of course the next size up was not only way too big but somehow still way too short. So I gave up and just got yet another black polka-dot dress (that actually fits like a dress and not like a necklace) to add to my rapidly-growing collection, plus a ring that I think I already lost. And then the gent at the register said I still had a few dollars of credit left, and I must have looked dismayed/nauseated at the thought of going back out onto the floor to find something else for two dollars, because he pulled out the mustache tote and my dismay evaporated.

So all of this rambling was really just a way to tell you that I did not mean for that mustache tote to come into my life, but it did. Which further cements my sort-of belief that everything happens for a reason, sometimes. Just like when you get ladybrain about one person, which turns out to be a good thing, because if that never happened you wouldn't have met this much better person, only now you kind of feel like you're on the verge of throwing up all the time because you haven't felt feelings in a while and it is shocking to the system. IT'S BEEN A LOT OF HOURS WHY HASN'T HE TEXTED. Why am I thirteen. Why. Why. Also thank goddess texting wasn't a thing yet when I really was thirteen because, because.

Remember yesterday when I said I'd participate in the last day of SFW if I had my life together enough? Well, my life is not together but instead of doing something about that I am writing long rambley blogs about I already forgot what. Sometimes I think blogging is just one giant displacement activity for me, which would explain why I am almost never talking about anything.

Linking up with Delirious Rhapsody! Sorry I tricked you guys into thinking this was a post about clothes. Don't be mad! I can change!

they had a broken keyboard, i bought a broken keyboard

I was pretty miserly yesterday. And if how I feel this morning is any indication, today might be the same. I keep trying to decide to be in a good mood, and sometimes it works for a few minutes, but mostly I just want to push stuff over. Also I feel lecherous and gross-looking, which is neither helpful to my "I just want to lie down forever" outlook nor is it in keeping with the spirit of Spring Fashion Week. Sorry for being all Debbie Downer, ladies. And THANK YOU so much for all of your sweet emails! My comments are disabled, so it's not you, it's me, for those of you who asked. And thank you to Deanna for hosting a week where pretty, interesting women compliment the crap out of each other. I like it. And I like creeping on all of your pictures.

What I'm wearing today. Right now. To be at school for forever.

(I'm over learning, you guys. I'm hoping it's spring fever and not "I want to move again" fever.)

Cat dress and carousel earrings. Chucks not pictured.

Can't remember where mystery bruise on arm came from? Probably Forever21.

Another Little House on the Prairie-inspired outfit. 

I like this dress but something about the fabric transforms my underarms into the Orinoco. 

In a sexy way, obviously.

This coat was six dollars.

I won everything forever that day.

Linking up with Delirious Rhapsody! I may or may not participate tomorrow, since it is a packattheverylastpossiblesecond/classes/travel day and how together my life will be is hinging on whether or not I am still an exposed nerve by the end of today. I think I am going to eat a lot of chocolate and hope for the best, although I'm not sure that's a good idea when I already feel like an ogre? WHAT DO I DO. Maybe will just put my head down for a long time. 

xoxo!

the time i was a cat lady. all of the time.

Sometimes I dress like an extra on the set of Little House on the Prairie.

Although now as I'm looking at this picture I'm realizing it's also a lot like what I wore to kindergarten.

If I could get my hands on an adult-sized purple Lion King sweat suit I'd wear that, too.

Also a Little Mermaid nightgown. Also I wish my mom still brushed my hair for me.

When I bought this dress it was down to my ankles so I chopped it and used the excess fabric
to upholster a cat-sized sofa. I was going to take the rest of it in so it'd actually fit me, but

I feel like I'm going to want a huge tent-y dress this summer because of hotness and eating a lot of things.

Also I only know two tricks on my sewing machine and that's not one of them.

Easily the most versatile sweater I own, it goes with everything. Everything. Always.

Leg warmers and slippers happened a lot of times this winter/fake spring.

Evidently so did my face makeup not being the right color. I AM GOOD AT THINGS.

Linking up with Delirious Rhapsody!

and the sun pours down like honey

I don't know, you guys. I feel like I could definitely be a full-time fashion blogger. Kindergarteners are practically teaching themselves these days anyhow. I will call this chapter of my memoir "The Time a Link-Up Altered My Life Trajectory." 

But that won't be out for a while so in the meantime LOOK AT THESE PICTURES OF ME:

 I only look miserable because it's five in the morning and my smile was still in bed.

I like this dress because it's made out of some weird material that feels a lot like wearing a hug.

The problem with this dress is that it creepily bunches up in the middle and if I'm not careful

my ovaries wind up exposed to the elements. Plus, lumpy-looking.

On the regular, I find dresses and get really excited about them only to realize

that they are NOT dresses, they are jumpers. And generally I think jumpers should be 

reserved for people who are four. But this one was practically free and I really liked the neckline,

so I thought MEH and brought it home and cut out the shoulder pads. And it was fine,

until I had to pee. And let me tell you, "Neglecting to Take Bodily Functions into Account
Whilst Making Purchases" is going to have to be another chapter of my memoir because if telling
the story of how you spent too many minutes shivering half-dressed in a cold stall while
praying that there wouldn't be some sort of emergency evacuation isn't literary gold,
then I don't know what is.

And because of honesty: 

What I Wore to go to school and then to the train station

and then to put a lot of dinner into my mouth and then to make

gestures at "staying in and studying" in an attempt to make up for the 

poor life choices that would be made over the next few days.

Go look at pretty girls.