12am
NY is fun, me gusta. I'm in the bath right now listening to Blink 182. My mom of course thought this hottie who works at diesel was flirting with me. So why, mom, would a hottie from NY flirt with me of all girls? Out of all the babes in NY? Sure, okay. Today I went to the top of the Statue of Liberty and saw "Ragtime." It kicked ass. I miss my friends (yes Andrew, you too!) I bet: Brittany met Jack, that he's not cute but she likes him anyway, even though she won't admit it. I bet: Stacie & James are going out.
2000
Tim called and I cried. Then Britta called
because Tim called her, worried. I hate how I get made fun of. I'm seen
as such a stupid person; that's all I am and it makes me so sad. I want
to forget about it, and they won't let me! Katie's perhaps the worst of
all. She's not cool anymore.
Quinn took me to the
library after school. Relax, it wasn't sexy. We did discuss his
"virginity," though. I think he might still be trying to convince me.
Good luck. I don't want him! Okay, I want him but I don't like him. He's
damn hot. But damn stupid! He's not a retard like Wes, for instance.
He's sarcastic, isn't gullible... He's quick & bright, just a
fucking dumbass. It's okay. They like it when attractive people are
stupid. As do I. I owe him $2 for the great ride he gave me today. I
think I'll tell him that tomorrow. Maybe I'll ask if he'd like to hang
out. In the company of Megan, of course. Neither of us has drugs. I can
get some from Kari so he'll want to hang with me. And maybe he can finally get laid? Poor guy has been trying for 18 years and still hasn't scored. Uh huh. Well, since I feel so badly for him, I might just fuck him. Right... in his dreams? Nope, in mine
2002
I
listened to Brian on the phone with Jaime. He's going to the prom with
her. She hopes, regardless of me, that the two of them will have one
last special night together. She told him she's heard a lot of shit
about me. Bruce told her that he and everyone else thinks that I'm an
obnoxious, ignorant bitch. I don't think I'm ignorant. Zach's friend
told her that Zach and I went out for a week and that something so weird
happened between us that he won't talk to anyone about it. I wish I had
a clue what this weird, fucked up thing was, but I haven't. Jaime wants
him so badly, and she only hopes that I'll be "open-minded enough" to
let them have one last night together. Fuck her. If he and I are
together, he'll not be. I hope that he doesn't fuck her either way. I
want to punch her. In that face. Brian asked me to be his girlfriend
over and over. Everyone hurts. I'm hurting Kelly because I'm thinking of
being with Brian. It makes him cry. I'm hurting Brian because I keep
saying no, and that makes him cry. Such crybabies. I don't know what I
want to do. I'm seeing Brian today. We're going to drink gin n' juice,
and then we'll run around downtown and kiss in the parking garage.
I'm pissed. Things are fucked up. Kelly's parents might kick him out of the house. Maybe Brian will fuck Jaime.
2004
So I'm fat, so what. It's all a joke anyway. Can you talk about anything else ever, please?! What is this voice that's arisen? O, I can see now that it's feigned. Nonexistent, whatever. Move on again: find that which is your own. Write madly; even from meaninglessness shall be meaning derived. It's good to sound happy. Even with the sounds around
Aha, perfect opportunity for possibility. And future. Possibility embraced by something stirred from within. Here you have one example who has taken some absurd though highly possible liking to you. Ah but a *memory* of him still exists. The features and the looks. Uh. Not to make this seem worthy of words like uh, but simply, He's probably going to come back, to visit Chicago. Grand idea! The city misses you! Just a little over a week though it seems. I suppose he'll do what he feels inside. Some kind of love stirring. Shaking and stirring, I understand because the entire situation and feeling is contiguous. Too many circles
2005
The School of the Art Institute Hot Spot 2005. Blond woman with tan cleavage. Old men with peppered, fluffy hair and barrel chests in striped workshirts. Art: some good, mostly mediocre, many terrible. I left feeling simultaneously good and bad: good, in a selfish way, with the thought that maybe I am a good artist; but the humanitarian in me felt badly, for the future and the art and the education is in general lacking.
After viewing the atrociousness of a digital print, explaining how to be UNIQUE (think elementary school cafeteria poster), I was messily consuming a piece of celery dipped in curried aioli, dropping some on my Catherine Mond-something blouse. A woman who had been staring at me in awe for some time finally commented that my top was just great- oh, you dropped something on it, here's a napkin- oh, I'm so embarrassed, where did you get it? Uh, marshall fields (apparently drunk to the point of honesty) When? last year. Who is it? I don't know. Mind if I check? okay. She looks at my tag and gasps with wide eyes and says, Oh, I know her, she is brilliant. Wow. Whispers the name to her friend whose eyes get wide and says, Ohh! Then she takes a digital photo and tells me I'm, the best dressed person there. The rest of the night I feel queasy and disgusted. Such a part of that ridiculous scene, or at least looked it. Grotesque cinnamon martinis. Sizzling sponsors. So many key lime and lemon meringue tarts.
Afterward I felt understandably exhausted and disgusted with reality. No, just humanity. The following night went similarly though we weren't there as long, and I was eating fake doritos instead of terrible roasted vegetable wraps.
Today I'm in a photo critique. The girls are behaving as usual; some have photos, some have maps and postcards, many have tiny books. Polaroids of landscapes, blurred digital prints of nudes with fuzzy frames and pushpins halfheartedly stuck in the wall. Interior architecture. I just consumed a dunkin donuts bagel for no reason.
New obsessive project idea: make a quilt. Duh, it's so obvious.
white Diesel tennis shoes
all black converse allstars lo tops
offwhite tennis shoes with blue Nike swishes on sides
old Adidas, white, with blue stripes
brown, dirty, leather Diesel
pointy, slip-on, pink with toe cleavage
turquoise v-neck 2/3 sleeve sweater, white shirt
navy blue hoodie, navy blue shirt w/ducks "go your own way"
black hoodie, white shirt
khaki hoodie w/zipper and multi-colored fairaisle design w/blue stripes on sleeves
black wife beater
army green snap-up shortsleeve w/pink thread, pink shirt
People in my photo class are both married and engaged. How dreadfully boring. Actually, both people in this category I find most boring of all.
2008
some time, who the fuck knows or cares
Corn Island, Nicaragua
I have a sunburn, I am in the old school carribean. I wish I could smoke a thousand joints. I wish I could Eat so many filets of various sorts of fishes. I’d like to drink a million bottles of Toña and Victoria beers. I want to look at electric rays and hammerhead sharks. To drink coffee and write. But then I’d be Sylvia, the spoilt little bitch wouldn’t I.
It’s pretty terrible; I still hope Charlie is having the worst birthday of his life.
