Just So You Know

If I ever am in need of a burlesque-esq name (esq because it will never be an act that requires pasties...ever), I believe it shall be

Lovey St. Claire

"Lovey" because its got an easier flow than "Lovely", and theres a hidden meaning behind lovely to begin with...St. Claire, well, just because ;-)
This is not to mean that Fiasco's August is out, no no, just aside because I don't know what/how to use it just yet. Not that I have a need for Lovey St. Claire, but from the boredom that arises from my monday classes I began to concoct little names and this was the best one I came up with.
So there you have it. This date marks it, so don't steal it because I'm laying claim here and now.
Now lets find a reason for me to need it.
--------
Also, visit http://www.pandora.com/
I need classical music on to study and this streams it for me, after I created my 'station'. Fabulous I say, fabulous.

Time Warp

Why does 2006 seem so lost? Like I never even lived it. But here I am, 2008. 2008? I feel like I've been in it for years. Senses of time and milemarkers of life seem convoluted and have been for a while.

Broken Eyes and Sobbing Hearts

I've been writing like crazy lately. In my dreams.
In the past year I've been having a ton of those 'waking dreams'.

I notice it mostly when I'm asleep but think I can see the inside of my eyelids. Then I begin to see whats around me, where I'm at, what I'd be seeing if I was awake. Sometimes I'm right, sometimes I'm not.

Lately in these last few minutes of my waking dreams I've been 'writing'. In my sleep its genius, and when I first wake up I think its some brilliant showing of a deep dream. But alas I barely ever write it down because I'm always running behind on getting where I need to be. But in the afternoon when my mind slows I remember pieces. Most of it is not good, not bad, but not genius for sure. And the rest of what I think is right on the cusp of being something worthy can't be recalled. The only thing left behind is the idea of the greatness, the memory of impact.

Here now as I write this I feel very stunted, very short. Perhaps its because I'm awake.

---

Last night a convo with the man at the liqour store:

"Oh Misssoureeeeeee. It is beautiful there?"

Yes. Very.

"You are here on vacation?"

No, school. Law school.

"You are a very smart girl"

Or very crazy

"I tell my daughter to be like you. That way it is her house--she can kick him out when he mistreats her. I dont want her need anyone"

My Dad did always say I wasn't out for a MRS. degree

"You are a very smart girl"

Or crazy



Then Michael Buble's "Home" played on the car radio as I drove home.

Manufactured and Double Bleached

Watching VH1 epic songs of the 90s. Talk about memory lane and lighting flashes of life. This would be wicked and I might even cry if I was high or drunk. Good thing I'm not. But this is almost an overload as it is. The circuit breaker might not be able to handle too many more currents.

Its funny how they really don't mean anything and never did at the time, but how much a part of the fabric of a background of a memory they weave themselves into.

Apologies for the Crude Word Usage

And the slutiest slut award goooooes to: the daytime whores.

The girls who make-out (term used loosely of course) with boys in the library, an empty classroom, in the middle of the afternoon. These boys aren't their boyfriends, the person they're dating, or even a serious prospect. No no, just boys they decide they are going to have that day. I'm conviced there is something inherently worse in these girls than the regular people who moonlight promiscuous. These moonlighters operate on booze and powders, dark rooms and lingering drags off cigarettes they wouldn't dare touch during business hours. Conquests and the means to their acquisition are firmly sworn off for good when the newspaper hits the door and lasts until the itch strikes again with the rising moon. And in that inbetween day the thought of having their way with a co-worker in a broom closet may play a part in a sultry after lunch daydream, but thats as far as it goes. If called out on why they're sitting there with a grin and sigh, I'm sure the response ilicited would be no more than a blushing mumble. Because under the cloak of darkness is when our demons come out to play with each other.
Maybe if I was a fly on a wall, I'd be less astounded by the mid-afternoon display of such a high slut factor. But that I can't even begin to imagine how that conversation or lack there-of would be leads me to think I'd only end up more perplexed. And bothered. I don't understand these animals. How they formulate thoughts and actions in this manner in the harsh light of day and without the fuzzy lines of stimulates.
I'm not jealous, of this be sure.
I do not wish for this ability, and so for now let it suffice I just find them to have some disturbing factor built into their makeup that deserves an untrusting eye. Untrustworthy by some nature. Even if their mid-day action stays firmly within the northern hemisphere, I still think they're the sluttiest of them all.

"I've Got to be Honest, I'm Terrified to Fly Blind

And I never wanted anything like this before."


--------------
Forever have a weak spot for the piano.
I love their name, because I love the book.

Storms of Fabled Foreign Tongues

Losing the feeling of feeling unique
Do you know what I mean?
Back to the place where we used to say,
"Man it feels good to feel this way"
Now I know what I mean

Sometimes I think it just might be better if I didn't stick around. That it might never happen. That the feeling I get in those 2 minute snippets, those second to second blips will forever stay there. Static. Both so full of hope and so confirming of despair that if the emptiness is so profound now that there's no telling how swallowing it will be in the future if nothing moves forward. So selfish, I know. But sometimes I just can't help thinking.

I've had everyone I've ever wanted.
But this little heart has never recieved what it really desired.

Alive.

in need of a pause button, just long enough to let me catch up to my life as it takes place around me

swirling. speeding. deafening. suffocating.

Quite An Occassion

I find these fantastic but I would never, even with the proper occassion, and oh have there been occassions, send them (shall I count thy ways why?). They'd sit and sit and maybe I'd mail one off to a friend but would have to make sure I included a proper explanation ("isn't this funny? I don't really mean it *I swear*"). Too much work for a simple 'hello'. But so freudian they're fabulous.
Aptly titled "BitterSweet"

I miss watching soccer. Loved being in Paris preceeding the World Cup. Totally random, but those fans were something fantastic. Love. Soccer.

I love driving to and from Miami Beach, especially at night. I'm a forever tourist. I love to do touristy things, even in St. Louis. But living here in the 305 (ha) its a sin to act touristy or want to do touristy things. I think thats why I have more of a disconnect here. That and because I'm used to vacationing in Mexico if its for someplace warm/relaxing. I remember the first time I flew into Miami with my dad to check out the school I couldn't help but be baffled by why people were on our plane for vacationing purposes. Warm places are for all inclusive resorts in neighoring countries.
I digress.
As far as I'm concerned, Miami isn't visited for its city purposes. Nothing awesome in the city. But the skyline along the water is phenomenal. Driving over those arching bridges, especially at night, is breathtaking. I love it. But it seems more like a post-card shuffled through a stack than a real-life twinkling, breathing scape. I wish I took the time to enjoy it. But then again, you're only supposed to comment on how fabulous you are for living here, how jealous the rest of the world is, how great the weather is, whether its a good day for boating or not, and which club is the 'it' place to be tonight. Speaking of clubs, they too fall into this post-card-esq shuffle. Secret? I've never been to the main ones. Still, driving past them I feel like I am a camera. Capturing shots of their washed white facades, art-deco oooooze, and pastel neon lights that is Miami. They are flawless beauty when viewed inside a thick black border that crops out the rest of the world. I'm there. I'm here. And yet being the eternal heart-swelling tourist that I forever will be, I am not immersed.
Eyes wide enough to capture, not enough to be.

Oh Honey, Medicine Man. So Much Talk Of Lullabies.

Went out for St. Patrick's Day. "I really must tell you---you're the prettiest Irish girl I've seen here all night". Now, I know you're lying your hot little pants off, so I just respond with "you're kind". Got the corned beef and cabbage, even if it isn't just how my mom or grandma would make it. Black and Tans too. And some akward coversation with various strangers who took it upon themselves to occupy the 4th stool at our high-top.
Its a Monday so there were no amber shots to be had. I just needed a partner in crime, since I feel my days of being the drunkest person by far are over. My potential partner in crime has a full school day tomorrow. Oh well. I get to spend the night in my own bed. Check with me in a few to see if thats a nice or unfortunate happening.

I've got a song. I couldn't hum you the melody, and I don't know any of the words, beyond my first and middle name. But I know that the first breath of the first note of the first word will make be break into a quiet sob. It just always has. Always. always. always. Even before my little self knew what was happening. Thinking about it now conjures up a heavy chest. I haven't heard it in probably more than 10 years. My Dad doesn't like to sing it because of how quickly I turn to tears. Its His song for Me. And every little girl should have a lullaby.

I was very sick as a little girl. Sound sleep was taken whenever and wherever it could be held onto. My parents and grandparents used to coax me into, at the very least, a mild sleep by whispering sweet verses of love and kindess into my little, cut-off and sewn back on [yes, cut-off, but thats another night's rambling] and aching ears while they rubbed my back or arm. To this day if you graze my arm or head or back lightly I'm out like a light.

Same with a plane, train, or automobile ride. Not sure why. It'll run into another brick wall again sometime and see the anwser, but the bricks haven't joined with the mortar yet.

Bitter-sweet is the best word, but bitter exists only as a must. Sweet is the proper idea. Every little girl should have such memories. I think its enough, and can last me [?]. Oh Honey, Medicine Man.

Hope you had some genuine beer/whiskey/beef and potatoes. And please let you have worn some green.
*
“Let anyone laugh and taunt if he so wishes. I am not keeping silent, nor am I hiding the signs and wonders that were shown to me by the Lord many years before they happened, who knew everything, even before the beginning of time.”—Saint Patrick
*
“The Irish don't know what they want and are prepared to fight to the death to get it”—S. Littlewood.
*
“The Irish - Be they kings, or poets, or farmers, They're a people of great worth, They keep company with the angels, And bring a bit of heaven here to earth”
*
“Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter.Lullabies, dreams and love ever after. Poems and songs with pipes and drums. A thousand welcomes when anyone comes... That's the Irish for you!”
*
*

"May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you. May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.”

{this picture isn't worth the thousand words I could use to describe this vis a vis through my own eyes and heart}

Sweetest Dreams Sweetest.

Ahah. Thats why.

"eye-rolling sentiments that are too youthful and migraining to spell out bluntly because when you try it comes out all wrong". --W.E. interview

for the same reason it was written I needed help to explain this in the way I really meant it, but in a way that I couldn't find the words myself.
"I wish I could write happy things and not hate them for sounding sentimental in that gross way."

never can be sure when and where those 'ahas' will fly by, or even if you'll catch them. been catching a few lately, but more in a 'look there' sort of way.

I love making myself make sense, via others' well spun rhetoric.

Wesley Eisold-RockSound mag.

So What

if I have a set of guidelines/preferences, if you will, regarding Hugs.

its pretty standard really. and only because of my whole little growing up culture. I don't dislike hugs. I prefer to stick to the "real" ones, but even if they aren't, I give them and I recieve them, and unless I'm really not your biggest fan I accept them even if I think its kinda stupid. If theres a big hugging hello or goodbye session I'll hang back, and smile but clutch my purse as though it just may sprout legs and whisk away all my heavy credit cards if I didn't hold it back. If you approach me, then fine. If I don't like you you'll get the "oh, I'm not much of a hugger"-there are very few people I feed this line, but I'm serious when I say it.
All the same goes for the kiss-kiss thing. Not me. Never will be. Its so freking awkward. My immediate family kisses each other goodbye on the cheek, for every goodbye. But outside of that, its just not me. We hug when something goes really well or really wrong. And if we aren't going to see each other for a month or more. And when we see each other again after that month, then we hug again. Same goes for my best friend. Thats about it. Simple. Loving. Never-awkward. Simple. Thats all.

Classmate 1: "wow, well, its good to know you have rules about that sorta thing"
Classmate 2: "its because she's a Republican. they don't want hugs, but they're the ones that need them the most"

How ridiculous is all of that, right? I know. But some people think I'm cold because of it all. Just familial/geographical differences, thats all. Thats. All.

Seems like a Saturday night tradition is watching various jail specials on msnbc. bonus was that all the whiskey wasn't quite gone. didn't feel much like a wine night, but i wish it would kick in and make the sleep come already, even just so I could fight it. gives a girl something to do.
allllllllll so silly. boo. ha :-)
-----------------------------
NOTE: “You know how it is in Hollywood, everybody kisses everybody. It's a handshake in Ireland. And a kind of tentativeness. Except when it's mothers and small children.” F. McCourt
YES.
-----------------------------

"Intuition

is the clear conception of the whole at once"-J.K.Lavater.

its just that I don't believe myself when I think the whole is really as bad as it really seems.
eternal optimist.
with the vision of an eternal pessimist.
dead-on.
the funeral is always full of "I told you so-s".
----------
She goes to school in Washington.
A major in self portraiture
Her poster in a record store
You meet her in a parking lot
And we should save ourselves
Blue sequins for the birthday girl
A beauty in a bridal gown
Her weakness for piano parts
She falls in love with everything
And we should save ourselves

these'll suffice for now. sometimes i just wanna be eighteenagaininpaintedonjeans.
wooooo-oh-oh.
meet me in the parking lot.

I've Been Laughing Like a Buffoon [to myself] All Day Long

I bookmarked the site stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com a while ago, but today I took the time to really sit down and start reading them.
I'm positive the people around me thought I'd once resided in a looney bin.
Yes, the site is offensive to some people.
Yes, some of its over-exaggerated. Maybe even invented.
But listen. ITS FUNNY.
I haven't read all the entires, and just because I'm white doesn't mean I've found that they all apply to me, but I don't care. I can laugh at myself and love it. Frankly, I think its so damn funny because its so damn true. Take this post on lawyers. I'm a law student and S. 1 of P. 1 and S. 2. of P.2 are [pretty much] spot on. Really. All the rest about saving the world, eh, maybe not so much. And I personally cringe at the idea of getting lawyers involved, or even disputing a traffic ticket (which I would WIN I tell you--the accident was not my fault, even if I did say "I'm sorry". damn excited utterance. damn heart.), because its just too big of a hassle for something trivial (read: so much of litigation is 'trivial'. just 'get it in writing' first = no problemos. lol). But, I snickered. And I love it.

--

Oh, speaking of law school, I went to a "preparing to practice" Westlaw workshop today. It was meant to show us how to keep research costs down, because literally every click on every single link and every little line printed costs money. I never thought the words "Reckless and Irressponsible" would be used to describe Legal Research. And so many, many times. He must've paid for it, and thought he'd make sure he'd get the full use of his money out of it until 2am central standard time. oh well, guess you needed to be there.

--

stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com

go.

smile.

because you can laugh.

its okay :-)

When the Day Met the Night

to be honest its how I imagine falling in love


This whole exhausted during the day, barely being able to drag myself from the depths of sleep in the morning and being tortured with alterness in the dead of night HAS GOT TO END. It just must. And simply, I'm tired of relying on pills and proofs.



Tried to nap. All this banging and sounds of bouncing something. Its like God was in my head messing around. "Under Construction" apparently.

Apply Directly to the Forehead

Only dont.

Ironarre happening of the past few weeks: Lately I've been thinking--how does someone get into a head-on car crash? I ponder this daily as I drive along. Couldn't you see it coming right at you? Why, when it does happen, is there not enough time to move out of the way?
Well today [monday], I'm winding around a one way each way side-street with no median, approaching a signal and this SUV making a right onto the street swings out a little into my lane. I think its just a momentary mistake. My mistake. Thankfully I'm basically crawling because this idiot stomps on the gas coming right at me. I'm flabbergasted. I honk and swerve onto the grass, barely savings us both from catastrophe. It was so close a man who saw it pulled up next to me to make sure I was okay and if I needed anything.And guess what was playing on the radio? "Just Another Day in Paradise".Perfect example of the Ironarre. And thats the only reason I'm telling you this story. The Song and my Ponderings and this Happening. Quite the odd combo. No?

I wouldn't say its a mantra, just a way of life.

A popular saying in England during WWII, but certainly fitting and a nice piece in gold metalic.

I'm Really Getting Tired

of waking up with a start and the only thought on my mind is how much I hate myself.
the whole procrastinator piece of me consumes so much that the only part that hasn't been taken over has to voice itself in the form of troubled dreams.

maybe I should stop sleeping so much during the day.
well, spring break is over in two more days. (I only left twice. TWICE. in 7 days).
that'll put a quick stop to all of this sleeping business.
is it wrong to love it?
perhaps as much as I do, but thats a rhetorical question, not to be anwsered by you.

This Will Show

how warped some of me can be.

Watching super-late-night-its now early morning-tv (you know the complaining drill and yet here I am). Cosby's happens to be on. I know they are far from actuality, but there is one theme that seems to be a pretty constant in American culture that was never really a part of mine.
The whole "parents are always on the same team" theme.
Really, it makes me angry to see such a thing. It just really pisses me off. And for that I think I'm terribly askew as society goes.
I say now that I never ever want to be on the same side as my spouse when it comes to my children simply because they are my spouse. I think when it comes down to it you are more (or should be) loyal to your children---they indeed are your blood.
Yes yes, its one thing when a child is clearly wrong, but I don't think assumptions should be jumped to.
And I can't tell you how this scheme of back and forth shaped my childhood. It made me know that I had someone in my corner. That the world wasn't against me. That reason could win. There were always deals to be made. Negotiations both at and under the table.
It wasn't always pretty. It very rarely was. But I think, no, I know, it made me closer to each of them as people. There is a famous quote about the greatest and longest lasting alliances are those that were formed in mutual distrust/like of an adversary. If I can find it in my notes I'll post it.
Simply: How awful was that last line? My parents hearts would break but would know it was true. They are divorced now. Typing that is something in and of itself.
Well, I know why those kinds of Cosby showings anger me. Because I was in real trouble when it happened to me. Nowhere to go. No person to turn to. No way out. Very rare but serious business when it appeared. I would resent the hell out of the both of them when they turned on me in unison. Sometimes I deserved it. Lots of times I didn't.

This doesn't count for the dozens of meaningless punishments done for the sake of appeasement or the exasperated midnights and august afternoons. Thats another book.



This-----is----------so------pointless-----its-----hopeless.

As far as the whole sleeping with conversation around me goes, I struggle and stuggle and struggle to keep awake. I'd rather fall asleep with the world happening around me than to fall asleep in the midst of a dawning nothing.





OH AND I'M SO PATHETIC. Lord knows how I fight it. But sometimes pathetic little piles of nothing come out.

GROSS in every single way.

EDIT: I saved this as draft originally, but I can't seem to remember what it was that I wanted to finish...or why the sudden burst of self-loathing, so I'll just leave it as it stands, even if even now the only thing that makes real sense is the first section. ah well, maybe another time I'll figure it out.

This is so Trivial

and oh yes it is. bear with me.
But my fingernails have gained the strength of hercules.
I wish I could impress upon you the significance. My whole entire life I had fingernails that would bend and spilt and break at the thought of tough price-tag.
My Grandma said that your skin moves around every 7 years.
Thats why I'm not upset about my scars. Because in 7 years or less they'll be gone.
[this doesn't explain the diamond scar on the inside of my arm, but I thank God thats never left me. I've had it for 20 years. have you had anything for TWENTY years? and its flawless. a flaw thats flawless. impeccable when you think of it.]
I've also notice some other "changes". Hahahaaa. That sounds like I'm 13 yrs. old. I'm not. And yet things are changing on me like mad.
I'm looking more like my mother. But I am convinced that the striking resemblance will go away when I loose this weight.
Ahhh the weight.
I put on more weight in a period of just a few weeks that it is absurd. No one [we're talking THREE specialists and a dumb-ass nurse who gave me a 'you dont have AIDS talk'--but thats such another story] can figure it out. I've been looking and fighting for almost 2 years now. I'm chalking it up to the 7 years. I didn't think this whole 7 yr. thing was so pervasive. But it must be. And I'm taking it all in. But let's be honest, shall we? I'll be honest. I really do believe as though I'll wake up one day and the fat will have evaporated and this rough skin will look half as good as when I used to wake up still wasted and bumbeling off to an 8am class.
It happened that quickly, why can't the bad things go away so quicly? Hell, I'd give up these fabulous nails I thought only my youngest brother inherited away in a snap.
I wonder what else has changed.
Thats the scary/unerving part. I'm hoping for sooooo much to just turn back---I can't stand for too much of this (read: NOT ALL) to stay the same.

Watching Everybody Loves Raymond is killing me right now. I have no huge box filled with sweet memories of ex-boyfriends. I don't even have Ray's shoebox. I have really got to stop watching super-late-night TV.




You know what really grinds my gears? How men can just look at a picutre of a skinnier man (or not of alcohol or meat or carbs) and instantly loose fifteen pounds.

I Promise

Just.
Another Line.
Without that hold-together-remember-me-
Hook.
Plenty of gems
But just the kind worn once
Then put away.
Only the best/worst dusted off once or twice more down the road.
The few get another go.
The many get tossed and turned and tumbled away.

Isn't it funny how ironic music is?
You can get there from perfection of the skill, and just as easily by an untrained but fantastically talented ear.
It is possibly the most complicated and easiest thing to perfect on one's own.
The complexities of it are mind boggeling.
And yet someone with not an ounce of training can create a masterpiece in a matter of moments.
The many elements for and from every style imaginble resemble a formula after a while.
The theories demand your attention to intricate detail.
But as close as you may come, as far as your knowledge may grow, as much as it may finally seemed solved, it never is. It never will be--never could be.
So deceptive its almost a dirty lie.
So perfectly rich the sane over-look it.
But it could drive someone right on the edge billowing past it.
It can't be pinned down and I couldn't do it all if I tried my darnest.
My mind doesn't work that way.
My mind doesn't work in so many ways, it makes me wonder in which ways it does.
So deceptive its almost a dirty lie.
But so perfectly rich the sane would over-look it.
Just.
Another Line.
Without that hold-together-remember-me-
Hook.

7th Moon

I haven't seen moonlight in what feels like forever.
I made a T-shirt for Valentine's Day one year in college that read "All You Need Is Vodka".
It was hot pink with pale pink letters.
I hold my breath as I type. I believe its because I type as I speak, but one can never be sure.
I've noticed that most of the arguments I have on paper are with myself.
Just me. All me.
My two favorite Beethoven pieces are the darkest.
They move me.
Towards what, to feeling what, to being what, I doubt I'll ever know.
Why is such a simple word, but the [single] hardest in the English language to answer.
I'm sitting here with my shoulders to my ears.
I must put you away. Goodnight to you. And You.

Was I Born in Black and White? Drops of--and pretty little red--oh meet me in--Why the Hell it Means So Much to Me

I'm sitting here, in Jupiter, watching the Cards play, but sitting on the Marlins side, and looking out to that sea of red and those perfect uniforms that pledge a firm allegiance to the A-B crown, and I ache for my city. I forget sometimes how much I really am in Love.

MISS YOU.

--
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