i'm found

here's the thing. i feel great. happy, balanced, hopeful.

however. i guess i'm acting a bit strange. and not necesarily with my friends anymore.

at one point i was, as i said, just plain mean. now i'm just dismissive. impatient. indifferent.

everyone always says that the best way to live is to do as you wish, follow your heart, BLAH BLAH BLAH. the problem is, what if my heart (and mind) are telling me that everyone (with the exception of a few very lovely people) just plain sucks and doesn't deserve my energy and therefore my respect? have i just lost my empathy?

dont get me wrong, i'm not (as) bitter, and i do cry at tragedy, my heart breaks daily with stories of inhumanity. but when it comes to the people i deal with every day (or regularly, anyway), i just don't give a shit anymore.

but i'm still happy! and a part of me wants to care! i just don't.

in other news, V for Vendetta was fantastic. and can people please stop voting for Ace?

plan b

cat power is going on tour again, after cancelling dates earlier in the year for "health reasons."

so far no NY dates, but i bet they'll be announced soon (PLEASE???).

see? i can't go to bonaroo or coachella but at least i can (hopefully) see her here.

SOMEONE COME WITH ME!!!!

i have no life

i have never been so obsessed with a magazine, ever, as i currently am with the new yorker. i anxiously await mondays, so i can go buy it, and i often try to push myself off for a couple of days because i know that if i do, by the time i finish it, it'll almost be time to get the new one.

this is so very lame that i can hardly believe i am admitting it.

i do this also with the vanity fair. but more so with the new yorker.

i even subscribed, which is ridiculous, considering i NEVER subscribe to magazines. however, i have not started getting them in the mail (takes like 2 months to kick in), so i still buy it. every monday.

and i sit for hours reading.

you'd really think i'd have something better to do, like, say, GO TO SCHOOL.

um

i may never recover from tonight's The Shield season finale.
i wish that right now, when i turn around, vic mackey and lem will be on my bed....

...nope, didn't happen.

do i need to move back to boston to find chiklis, jr?

zoo

after being broken for way over a year (i'm thinking maybe 2?), i am getting my guitar fixed this week. i have a bunch of songs i want to teach myself to play, and i think it's time to start torturing my neighbor becky with something other than my angelic singing.

i think i need to address this singing thing. it may cost me this apartment. it starts at 7am, when i wake, and ends anywhere from 11pm-5am (depends on when my insomnia, which has decided to rear its ugly head again, calms down for the night). granted, my neighbors aren't exactly quiet, but i fear that my repertoire may be too much for even the dogs that howl along with me to handle.

usually when i wake, i stumble out of bed, head to the bathroom, then immediately approach the ipod dock, and decide what mood i will be in today. if i'm upset, it's jeff buckley. if i want to sing along and be angry/envious of beauty, it's cat power or fiona. if i want to slit my wrists it's cat power or memory-filled mixes. if i want to cry, it's robi rosa. if i want to rap (yes, i said rap) and complete get down, it's my reggeaton playlist (currently 150-something songs). please do not forget that i sing along to ALL OF THIS. if i want to be embarrassed, but want to REALLY sing, it's kelly clarkson. if i just want to get dressed and get along with my day, it's jenny lewis. and if i want a combo of crying/dancing/singing hardcore while envying beauty, it's goldfrapp.

this routine is repeated when i get home, then again after i am done trolling the net/applying for school/talking on the phone/watching tv.

all at the top of my lungs.

i probably need to start considering moving to a barn in the country, where my nearest neighbor is 50 miles away.

the real c?

i can be very mean. i don't take calls, i ignore, i snap, i talk back, i bitch out, i am mean.

i've always known that i often do this to people i don't generally care for, or who i once cared for, but are now on my shit list. this is acceptable to me. but it has become known to me that i do this to everyone. even people i, in theory, like, or even love.

this can take shape in a few ways.
1) i spend too much time with you. i get bored. i start avoiding. this is mean.
2) you do something to piss me off. i don't tell you. i let it sit, and start taking it out on you, without you ever knowing why i am treating you like an enemy.
3) i realize you have this one flaw that i may possibly never get over. this traumatizes me, i realize i need space. i get distant and bitchy.
4) i simply cross the line between sarcastic and just plain mean.

this past week alone, i have been VERY mean to:
1) most of my current close friends
2) a friend who pissed me off, i never told her, blah blah blah
3) a friend who doesn't know that i am tired of her, and who has tried to contact me numerous times, with me completely ignoring her. i am not proud of this.
4) 2 ex flames (both who probably deserve it, but still)
5) some dude i dated for a split second, who wants his shit back, and who i have been avoiding since october.
6) a patient at the place where i'm volunteering (this was probably the first one i felt any remorse about)

i am very upset with myself, but i am even more upset at my indifference with all this. i mean, is this really the way i'm going to be? maybe i'm just tired. or maybe i'm just an asshole.
i am sorry though.
see? now everyone's going to hate me MORE.

Take me back.

My vacation is over. So over that I went back to work today, reluctantly, and later came home to find a jury duty "questionnaire" waiting in my mailbox. Welcome home.

I survived the numerous plane flights, I enjoyed eating my way through Paris and rediscovering my high school French, and I tried to clean up Madrid (while considering whether or not to get the haircut dujour, the European mullet).
I fell off the smoking wagon (which I am now back ON, dammit), I discovered that wine is cheaper than Diet Coke and that I am in fact as clumsy as I think I am, and I had late-night conversations about religion and relationships with my best friends.

Eyeglasses in Paris are bright and weird (and don't translate well in New York, seeing as though most people I know hate my new specs), and Irish pubs in Madrid play Hanson (which is better than the place we were before that, in which a "stand up comic" was making oral sex jokes that I could barely understand because of the PR Spanish/Actual Iberian Spanish barrier).

Ah yes, and then there was the time when we left the TV on in the living area to our hotel suite in France, only to have my mother walk in there later, claiming to hear weird noises, which were of course emanating from the harcore bondage pornography playing on a local station.

I love Europe.

all i ever wanted?

I leave for vacation in a few hours. I am nowhere near ready, am only a quarter packed, and have not dropped off the dog at the place where he's boarding (I'm terrified that after he attacks everyone there, they'll call me in Europe and make me come back to take him home). I have no idea how I survived this week, or this month, or how i'll survive the next twelve million plane rides. Oh right, I'm TERRIFIED of flying.

Last weekend I attended my friend's wedding in Puerto Rico, which was surreal, beautiful and weird. I was in PR for about 30 hours, spent my time either sleeping or at the wedding, and managed to get back in one (shaky) piece.

So now, vacation.

I get to see Maru. I get to see Josh. I get to sleep. I get to really evaluate how inferior Puerto Rican spanish is to Spanish spanish. I get to cower in the face of Parisian fashion.

I can do this. I will do this. What's a few (so many!) hours on a few (a total of 4) planes??

See you in 8 (8!!) days.