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.