Monday, May 23, 2005

Finals - blaaaaaaagggggghhhhhh......

1. I bought ANOTHER pair of pink sandals this weekend. Help! Help! 2. This is finals week. You will not be seeing much of me. 3. My job sucks huge donkey balls and I need to find a new one PRONTO. 4. Movies watched this weekend in lieu of studying: "A Series of Unfortunate Events" which should have been called "A Series of Unfortunate Scenes Involving Jim Carrey Who Ruined An Otherwise Perfectly Good and Creepy Movie." "Suspect Zero" which, for a movie about psychic shit that usually sends me yawning my way over to the STOP button on the remote, was actually pretty decent. It was filmed all zippy-zoopy-like and that Carrie Ann Moss is wicked hot. "Team America: World Police." America - FUCK, YEAH!! "The Sea Inside" which I have nothing humorous to say about because it was so beautiful and haunting and perfect and it really really really made me search my soul for answers about stuff I thought I already had the answers to. Wish me luck pretending to work while I write papers and study for exams. I'll be back in a few days.


Thursday, May 19, 2005

Single Sloth

So, I broke up with Michael two nights ago. I don't know if I mentioned that I was planning to do this or not. I can't keep up with what I tell you guys. I went to get a drink with my friend Stephanie so I could get my brolly back (I had left it at her house in a drunken post-bridal shower haze). We went to a certain swanky bar in Central Square. Michael lives across the street from said swanky bar. My ex-boyfriend is the bar manager at said swanky bar. After Stephanie left I called Michael and told him to come over. To sum up: I broke up with Michael in front of my ex-boyfriend at a swanky bar. It was all a bit disconcerting but I'm glad it's over. Since I had been pondering the break-up and my reasons for it for some time, it went amazingly well. For me. It was like I was reading from a script full of profound one-liners. For him, it was not so smooth. He could have used a dress rehearsal, or at least a read-through. I started out with, you know, I'm not mad at you and I'm not even sad about not being with you anymore. You're passionate about a lot of things in your life and I'm not one of those things. Clearly I deserve better than that. Either you're not that into me or this is as much as you are capable of being into anybody. Either way, it's not going to work. He said it was neither. He, apparently, is still not over this other chick and is dealing with that and I was like, dude, why didn't you just break up with me then? I'm not your consolation prize. And I mean, really. Who wants to be with someone who weighs themselves down with useless emotional baggage like that? He told me that he and I got along and had more in common than he ever did with her and it was totally irrational that he was still dealing with that and then he was like, "Great, now I have yet another unresolved emotional wreck to add to the collection." I was like, "Don't worry dude, you'll get over it. I did." He goes, "You're not over it. No one gets over stuff that quick." I said, "I've had two months to get over it. Believe me, I'm over it." And I am. I mean, it's not just that I don't miss him, it's like he never even existed. Finally after an hour or so we left and just before I got in the cab he said, "It feels so weird to just throw cold water over this whole thing." I said, "I'd rather paddle away than go up in flames. Consider yourself lucky." He said, "I don't have a lot of experience with this kind of stuff." And I was like, "Yeah, well, I do." Then I got in the cab. Like I said, it was sort of cinematic. I mean, when do break-ups ever come off without a hitch like that? Anyway, here are today's shoes. I'm wearing the gold sequined ones to the supposed-to-be-super-casual clambake the day before my sister's wedding. Fuck casual. I just spent $400 on a bridesmaid's dress that doesn't fit and looks like it was made by a dirty, starving six-year-old with bleeding fingers in a sweatshop in Taiwan. I have earned the right to wear whatever I damn well please to the clambake and Let. Me. Tell. You. I am going to look fucking fabulous.


Monday, May 16, 2005


It smells like nursery school today. It must be the rain and the mud. I wish I were back there, playing in the damp leaf pile behind the swingset. Getting my clothes dirty. Digging for earthworms. I liked making magic wands with dried macaroni and glitter on popsicle sticks, but getting my corduroys and my hair mussed in the backyard was best. On the sidewalk this morning I walked through a soggy scattering of absurdly bright pink blossoms. An old man with a fedora and a cane stepped respectfully around them but I kept my trajectory and crushed them with my heavy treads. The bus was packed. I could barely fit on and stood next to the driver for awhile, feeling like a copilot. Halfway through the commute, finally, a seat. A woman stood in front of me holding a bright blue fish in a cup. The fish was right in front of my face, resting. It hadn't much room to move but seemed content. Or asleep. Absurd to think about it, really. I mean, what kind of consciousness does a fish have? I wished I were that fish. Obviously it was going somewhere special. A classroom, perhaps. It would be admired just for being such a pretty blue. It could just float and be admired. Eat occasionally. Thoughtless, weightless. Today is a bad day.


Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Mini Updates - Slothstyle

Hello everyone. It's spring! Nice and warm today, sunny, lovely, happy springtime. Updates: 1. The Sinister Guy (reminder: this is the guy I want to grope and paw every morning on the bus) definitely has his eye on me. Today I got a big smile instead of the surreptitious moon eyes. Something occurred to me about him today. He never has anything with him except his cell phone. No book, no iPod, no bag of any kind. He only ever has his cell phone and when he's not wearing a jacket he carries his phone in his hand. It's just odd to see someone out in the world completely unencumbered. And yes, I know that men don't carry bags the way women do, but all the guys on the bus have at least a backpack or a laptop case or something. I think the 32" waist and the tucked in shirt and the overall appearance of neat, trimmed evil genius exaggerates the effect. Because if he is not carrying his sinister evil genius tools in a backpack, then they must his brain......... 2. I have been reading (thanks to El Dastardo) the short stories of Philip K. Dick and I have noticed some things about them that may not be readily apparent if you don't read them all in a row. -People are smoking like...really smoky people in every story. I'm guessing the dude was a smoker himself because all of his characters suck down the cancer sticks with nary a thought to the actual cancer that's in them in every scene. -Breasts. Man, did he love him some breasts. They are reverently described at least once in all of his stories and apparently, in the future, breasts have a tendency to "heave" at the slightest provocation. That's all I've got for now, if I find any more glaring consistencies I'll be sure to point them out. 3. Here are all the shoes I bought yesterday: And now with a fresh pedicure my feet are sooooo happy. Have a great Wednesday y'all.


Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Confused-by-pop-culture Sloth

GodDAMN it!! I was all proud of myself for being into this band Bloc Party that no one else seemed to have heard of yet, then yesterday I was watching Real World/Road Rules Challenge, Inferno II (don't even think about judging me - do not even THINK about it) and they were advertising Bloc Party ringtones that you could download at every single commercial break. Sloths are never as cutting edge as they'd like to be, I know that, but come ON. Why can't I ever, ever be ahead of the curve? Just once? I just don't move fast enough. So now I'm back to being lame. Speaking of lame, what the fuck happened to Britney Spears? I mean, she's always been a little scary with the whole vixen/virgin thing going on and the constantly changing boob size and the songs that I loathed myself for sort of enjoying, but now she's just gnasty. Yes, I know she's pregnant and gaining weight and looking different, but that's not it. It's like the real Britney is being revealed layer by layer as she gets more and more comfortable with being filthy rich and no longer really needing to work. Underneath that sexy pop star exterior there has always been a Wendy's-eatin', Virginia Slim-smokin', hair-curler wearin', garden-gnome havin', white-trash-trailer livin' baby machine. She's the female Elvis!! Except minus the campy cool part. Red head pics coming soon, I promise.