...when the music hits...you shall feel no pain...

ROAR

2006-09-14T17:00:47Z

How is it that people are still ashamed to say they are feminists? Today I was talking to my best friend and I said something about being a feminist and she says, "You're a feminist?" so I said, "Of COURSE I'm a feminist, and you are too!" and she says, in an outraged, disgusted voice, "I am NOT a feminist."

Ok. Backup. So during the feminist movement in 60s and 70s bra burning was a little outrageous and somehow images of lesbians running around burning their underwear became the image that is conjured to people's minds upon hearing the word feminist. Yes, they were feminists. But so is every single person who believes that women shouldn't be opressed. A feminist is a person who believes in equal opportunities for women and who is against letting men rule the world without any say from females. Why is it so shameful to be a feminist? Somewhere along the line feminist became synonymous with lesbian in some people's minds. I can understand why people don't want a label that isn't true to them, but nobody is homophobic until THEY get labeled wrong. Feminism does not mean homosexual, it does not mean liberal, it does not mean radical, it does not mean bitch. It means you're not a pussy and will stand up for what is right, and you will stand up for yourself.

soleil_bound @ 2005-12-07T12:32:00

2005-12-07T17:36:04Z

Listening to Bob Dylan in the morning reminds me of Sundays mornings in my living room from when I was little.

Welcome

2005-08-11T01:09:58Z

I miss

everything.

why is it that when everything in my life is going fine, but everyone else's is fucked up, i get overly stressed and worked up? when im having an issue with something, i freak out to a certain degree but ususally manage to handle things decently. but when the people im close to are all having problems with each other, even if it has nothing to do with me, i fall apart. i am such a child. i cant NOT let things get to me. if i dont think they are, or intellectually seperate things from emotions, i just cant put myself above it. it subconciously drags me down so bad that i cant do anything until the things that need to be said are said... and since none of it is about me i dont really have any control over anyone saying anything. headache. i just dont want everything to break so bad its never going to get fixed.

...Cheese...

2005-04-12T20:18:42Z

What does an up-and-coming rock band do when uncontrollable talent seeps from every member, but nobody wants to listen? They take matters into their own hands, or their own van, at least. Independently booking shows and touring throughout the east coast, Gibbler, the five-piece rock band from Hazlet, New Jersey just can’t seem to draw the attention of a major record label.

“The music industry sucks right now,” says Sean Dunne, the lead singer of Gibbler, “nobody wants to take a chance on something new.” But that doesn’t stop this unprecedented band from electrifying the stage with their fresh new sound at every chance they get. Combining astounding four-piece vocal harmonies with the heaviest, bass thumping rhythms, Gibbler’s unique melodies are slowly but surely gaining them recognition.

Overflowing with personality, Gibbler’s presence extends beyond the stage and pervades every being within earshot. “I just want to entertain the crowd,” discloses Dunne, “I’m the fun man.” And entertain they do. When the lights go up it’s hard to ignore the sweeping tresses tumbling from each boy’s head. These visually stimulating coiffures thrash and whip around the stage inciting excitement in the audience, but also making the statement, ‘hey, we’re funny too.’

Influenced by such legendary rock heroes as The Beatles, The Beach Boys, and Led Zeppelin, Gibbler is turning the modern rock scene on it’s head by masterfully melding torrential beats with serene rhythms. Entwining harmonious guitar declarations onto a rough punk foundation, Gibbler comes out with a fresh version of pop rock deserving of it’s own genre.

Since 2002, when drummer Matt Calchera completed the band, Gibbler has been off and running, already having performed at New Jersey’s Skate and Surf Festival two successive years, and landing five tour dates on the 2002 Van’s Warped Tour. “People say we fight a lot, but I think its because we’re like brothers,” relays Dunne, “We’ve practiced three times a week for three hours since high school.” The bond they share unmistakably comes across on stage even though the band members hardly communicate verbally with each other. Frequently exchanging glances, you get the feeling that words are uncalled for; they just get one another.

Their latest concert, the record-release show for their self-released album, was held in New York City at The Cutting Room in Chelsea on March 29th. An intimate venue with a platform for a stage, and accommodations for about 150 people, Gibbler took absolute advantage of the room’s phenomenal acoustics. Sean’s voice strongly carries the band, as he is somehow capable of hitting his highest notes from inside the chest, never wavering into an airy, translucent excuse for sound. As his voice wraps itself around an ascending scale and ultimately peaks at an inconceivable sonance, I question if there is any note this kid can’t reach!
This Everest-scaling voice didn’t appear overnight, but is due to a lifetime of meticulous training. At 21, Dunne is currently studying music theory at Rutger’s University, and supporting himself by giving youth voice lessons. “Knowing music theory and applying it to real life are completely different things,” Sean explains slowly, carefully struggling for the right words. “Some of the greatest musicians may not know anything about music theory, but they know what sounds good and that’s what makes them great. I’m really influenced by Freddy Mercury and Robert Plant.” He pauses for a moment and then chuckles, sheepishly adding, “and you know, the classics, Paul McCartney and John Lennon of course.”

Lead Guitarist and backup singer, Tom Farinaro’s voice contrasts impeccably with Dunne. Whereas Sean’s notes flow from somewhere hidden, deep inside, Tommy contorts his face and bares his teeth, willing his body to push out the jagged reverberations that combine to form the irreplaceable edge of Gibbler’s sound.

By the third song the band has yet to take a pause, letting the songs bleed into one another forming a continuous euphonic epic. Exhibiting profuse variation with every number, stopping to introduce the separate songs is unnecessary. Slowing down to play a ballad, Charlie Busacca’s gaze falls upon the bass, where his eyes remain watching his own fingers dance across the strings for the length of the performance. He doesn’t grant the audience any flashy smiles; we have to earn each outward glance. Never losing momentum, the fervent crowd bonds together, swaying as one, anticipating the invigoration of the next big build up.

Without warning, the lights flicker from a subdued blue to vibrant red, and Ty Gable, the rhythm guitarist, strikes a riff that intoxicates the room. Tossing his guitar around as if a toy he’s long-ago mastered, Gable’s expertise surpasses the potential of such a plaything. Chills run throughout my limbs as my body just isn’t capable of finding a way to react to the brilliant rhythms and ground-shattering beats. The room itself is pulsating.

It’s one of those performances that makes you feel as if the world has frozen outside of the doors, and until you exit, all is right in this tiny, personal utopia. Gibbler seems to be in its element as well, demonstrating enormous gratification to the crowd by incessantly thanking the fans for coming out and showing support.

“It’s priceless to see our sacrifices being appreciated,” Dunne imparts, noting the heavy impact it has had on all aspects of his life, including education. “I’ve already had to withdraw out of a class because I had a show on the day of the final.” This decision, along with his missing a critical midterm in another class has postponed his graduation date, keeping him off the road and in the classroom for two extra semesters. “Relationship-wise it sucks because I never see anyone, including my girlfriend,” Sean relents, a tinge of discouragement in his voice. Quickly bouncing back he continues, “but it’s all worth it, so technically it’s not really a sacrifice. It’s just what’s got to be done.”

Taking official press photos is reputed tedious by the stars, but for new talent, it’s the key to bridging the dream with the tangible. “When you get signed that’s what your job is, so it’s cool to actually be doing it,” beams Sean. Skeptical, I questioned his motives, asking, “When you’re posing for the camera, don’t you feel like a tool?” Without missing a beat, he brashly replies, “Of course we all felt stupid because we just stand there trying to look cool, and like, we’re not cool…but it’s awesome because that’s what happens when you make it, all you do is take pictures all day.”

Fear of “selling-out” withholds many bands to remain forever local, but Gibbler’s tremendous potential is hard to restrain. These boys aren’t afraid to flaunt their percolating talent to any willing ear, priming for their imminent future explosion. “I want to sell millions of CDs and be the biggest band in America, proclaims Sean, “I want to be the Led Zeppelin of 2000.”

If their hair is any indication, they are definitely on their way to following in Zeppelin’s footsteps. Somewhere over the last sweaty hour, the five heads of gleaming locks that appeared so striking at first, have been transformed into five frizzy, curling afros, defining mop-top to a T.

When it’s over I’m recovered to reality to find my knees ready to drop out from underneath me, and my hearing completely annihilated. Had an entire hour really gone by? The crowd desperately pleads for “one more song,” and I can’t help but wail along with them. Aside from Sean closing the show by wishing that “everyone get safe home,” it was an otherwise flawless performance, worthy of the crowd’s enduring ovation, laudable of any record label’s willing ear, and deserving of maybe, a quick cut and blow.

Naturally Smooth

2005-01-24T23:00:02Z

I've been shaking for the past two hours. ah
how long does chicken stay good in the fridge after it's cooked?

i want to see in good company
fernando just called me
i wonder what nick is doing right now.

i bought the complete 5 season dvd set of Daria yesterday online
and missed the 80s party
i wish i could be different than this
all the time

the zipper on my jacket broke today.
i wish bollo lived here
my nails are painted black but theyre chipping already
where am i going to put my next visitor pass
who is kathleen and why is she blonde.

Just call me Gwen

2004-12-18T01:16:28Z

You Are Gwen Stefani!

All guys dream about you
And all the girls want to be you
"Sappy pathetic little me
That was the girl I used to be"

Who's Your Inner Rock Chick? Take This Quiz :-)

Find the Love of Your Life
(and More Love Quizzes) at Your New Romance.

Yeah ok... Who made this quiz...

irish candidates

2004-12-18T01:03:15Z

Is it good or bad to know that this is as lonely as it gets and I'm going to be just fine

Section B

2004-10-31T23:09:00Z

ABC has decided to stop broadcasting the Miss America Pageant. What the fuck. Now who are little girls going to look up to in the early days of adolescent confusion? Who are they going to turn to when the first urges of eating disorders perk up? Where are they to look when the practice of walking with a stack of books balanced on their heads seems trivial? Most importantly, what are they to aspire to without the proper demonstration of double-stick tape?

Seriously now, since when did ABC decide to take a moral stance? Last time I checked, networks were thriving off the fact that every time the standards dropped, the ratings rose. Is it possible that in this world of “Outfoxed” Fox 5 news and “O’Reilly” reality, a television network is trying to encourage ethical behavior? (Or at least, not trying to entertain us with corrupt right-wing banter.) Oh wait, that’s right, it’s about money.

The past 10 years have not bode well for the skank vs. scholarship spectacle. The 25 million viewers attentive in 1995 have diminished to barely 10 million in 2004. ABC executives attempted to rope viewers in by “limiting talent contests and adding skimpier swimsuits,” but to no avail. Limited talent just doesn’t impress America anymore. “We’ve lost money on it,” executives claim, and this won’t cut it in a world where economics claim superiority.

The decision to pull the pageant is being publicized as an issue of ethics by media outlets, but why the twist of reality? Both NBC and CBS have declined to pick it up for next year, and Fox doesn’t look promising. There’s no need to sugarcoat the facts to the genius that makes up middle-class America. We ain’t got no values! The pageant isn’t making money, and as pop punk bands across the nation have proven to us time and time again, sell-out or get out.

The problem is that now it’s too easy to find a naked chick prancing around the TV screen with no apparent ambition in life. Miss America is practically a tease, come on, we have to wait an HOUR for the bikini contest, and then another 45 minutes for them to dance with each other? Get real, it’s much easier to turn on “The Man Show” for 15 minutes and call it a night.

If ABC wants to make this thing work, they’ve got to get in touch with reality… reality TV that is. So here is my proposal: “The Miss America Pageant” becomes “America’s Loosest Nymph.” Throw the half naked contestants into a pit of Jello, while competing for the same ideal husband, making sure someone’s a mole, and see who makes it out alive. Competitions could follow suit with the original pageant, such as nail clawing matches to the death, and realest-looking-tits-contests.

So what do you say America? Can we drop the façade that morality is ascending and stop pretending we’ve risen above Miss America? Clearly, the same values still hold true in our society that were present when the pageant was first initiated… we’ve just moved beyond the exhibition, and onto Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. (Same deal, without having to press mute on the remote control.) We’re a bunch of money-grubbing, self-gratifying, naked-chick-watching Americans, and god-dammit, I’m proud to be an American.

900MHz

2004-10-29T02:35:00Z

Two Manhattan police officers pay no attention to seatbelts as they slide into the front seat of a patrol car and settle in comfortably. Sunflower seeds and stray fast food napkins litter the torn backseat, and the aroma of stale take-out fills the air. Police Officer Michael Montpetit cranks up radio station K-ROCK and cracks his knuckles proclaiming, “It’s gonna be another long night.”

Montpetit clutched the steering wheel with his left hand while sipping a Diet Coke with his right. “You with me man? Wake up!” he shouted at his partner, John Considine, before tossing the empty bottle aside and clapping intrusively in his face. “Give me a minute bro, I’m so out of it right now,” Considine replied while reaching for the cell phone resonating in his front pocket. “My head is pounding, let’s get some food,” he said.

From 3-11:30 p.m. (but it’s usually 12 a.m., says Considine) the night shift officers from the 13th precinct patrol 1.08 square miles of lower mid-town Manhattan. The area is home to 84,121 residents making it, “A place you don’t want to live in, since there’s usually only four or six cops on duty at a time,” according to Considine.

Included in the area is Union Square Park, a hectic subway station home to constant hubbub, and other hot-spots like Bellevue Hospital and the Police Academy. While police activity generally remains low-key, there have been four shootings in the past two weeks, according to Considine, making it an eventful close to an otherwise slow month.

Down by 71% since 1993, reported robberies have decreased tremendously in the area. Grand larceny still poses an active threat to the neighborhood, with 1,829 reported cases in 2003, but has also subsided tremendously by 33% in the past 11 years.

Dealing with parking violations and unruly taxi drivers are the most prevalent issues the cops face on a daily basis. “People get hit by cars, like, five times a day,” Montpetit said, “Cab drivers cause us so much trouble.” The words barely leave his lips as a taxicab darts in front of a white Mercedes to pull over under a red light in the middle of a crosswalk. “That’s three violations in under three seconds!” Montpetit bellows through his window at the unsuspecting driver. “You trying to kill someone?! Animal!” Considine finishes off.

Continuing down Fifth Avenue, a disabled patrol car is spotted on the corner of 28th Street. The stranded officers explain they’ve been impatiently awaiting assistance with the broken-down vehicle for over an hour. Montpetit swiftly remedies the situation by instructing them to buckle up and put the car in neutral gear. Saddling up behind them, he uses his vehicle to push them at 10 m.ph., seven blocks back to the precinct.

Astonished onlookers turned their heads and chuckled as New York’s finest trudged down Fifth Avenue, creating a spectacle closely resembling bumper cars. “Jesus, this is so embarrassing,” Considine griped while burying his beet-red face in his hands, “This job sucks.”

Both officers are less than thrilled with being placed in the Manhattan precinct. Considine has been with “13” as he refers to it, for two years, although he lives in Queens. Montpetit has been hopeful for relocation to Suffolk County, where he currently resides, but the department’s test is among the most difficult and selective in the nation, Suffolk having the highest paid police officers in New York State. The Police Entrance Exam for New York City is known to be easier than most, concentrating on reading comprehension and memorization, rather than psychological interpretation, according to Montpetit. “I took the exam, because like, why not?” he said in reference to his motivation for becoming a cop.

Both officers share a common mentality towards their profession, leaving behind glamorized allusions from NYPD Blue, and simply trying to make it through another mundane workday. “Partners aren’t assigned by the department,” Montpetit said, “you get to pick your own.” This explains the relationship they exude of frat buddies, rather than the romanticized vision of New York’s Finest that the American public has been fed through primetime television programs. It is also the reason for the overwhelming majority of same-gender partners, according to Considine.

“Alright, I’m bored,” Considine whines at 4:45 p.m., after scratching the last square off a lottery ticket purchased at a deli 30 minutes ago, “Wanna get someone?” Montpetit agrees to scout out a parking violation, but first stops for a snack at Dunkin’ Donuts. Climbing back into the driver’s seat, he massages the back of his neck with his left hand. “Let’s do this,” he sighs, attempting to conjure up a smidgen of energy, “But when do you want to stop for dinner man?”

Would It Be So Bad If You Were To Pretend

2004-09-29T23:52:18Z

So I don't really know what's wrong with me. All I know is that I can't be at school for a full day without having a breakdown. It really sucks... I feel like the only thing that will make anything better is going home, but that's just silly because it doesn't actually fix anything. Yet I find myself at home in Yorktown at least twice a week and dreading the inevitable train ride back to NYU. I swear, I'm going to be that 40 year old psycho who lives in her parent's basement. And has lots of cats. Except I hate cats so I'll probably just be 40 and weird and paying rent to my Mom.

My doctor thinks I'm going to jump off a building because I go to school here, it's funny. I had to go to the doctor this weekend and everything was going just fine and he asked me where I go to school to make conversation. When I told him he suddenly got all nervous and wrote something down on my sheet and asked me if everything was ok. He's like, "They are having some problems over there aren't they." I was like, "um I guess you could say that..." He said he wanted to see me again in 2 to 3 weeks, for no reason. I think he just wants to check that I haven't jumped off the library too. Haha wouldn't it be funny if I didn't show up.

TheCorporation

2004-09-23T03:05:26Z

-UPDATE-

It is NOT COOL to wear a plastic tiara.

As dictated directly by Mr. Mendoza:

2004-08-11T05:12:37Z

"Hi. What's up everyone. Hey Nick, you're the best."

soleil_bound @ 2004-07-14T00:10:00

2004-07-14T04:12:19Z

Why is my family this fucked up.
Even the dog needs therapy. Literally.

soleil_bound @ 2004-06-05T19:50:00

2004-06-05T23:50:49Z

Im
sick
of
feeling
like
this
.

Peppermint Tea

2004-06-01T05:40:19Z

Reading can be so comforting, yet isolating at the same time. Sometimes when I'm reading something really good I get completely wrapped up in it, and lose all conscious personal thought. My mind is utterly hypnotized by the story taking place in the words that spill across the pages in my lap. I lose track of time, my surroundings, myself, and all that defines reality. It is wonderful.
I always catch myself re-awakening to the present when I realize I'm almost done with the book. I go to turn the page, and realizing only a few remain stumble abruptly back into consiousness. This always provokes an unsettling feeling of being hurled into the present. It's weird how I slowly lose myself without even realizing it, but when the process is reversed the severity is startling.
When I'm finally done I usually feel somewhat contemplative, but more abandoned. I had been thoroughly absorbed by this author's every detail and descripton, and now what? I'm supposed to generate my own thoughts? It's ironic how a person's art can be a form of refuge to a total stranger; maybe even more theraputic to the audience than the creator.

Read Blankets by Craig Thompson. (and do it in one sitting)

Pink Lace

2004-05-13T14:29:23Z

Hey what's up I can't sleep. Shocked? I knew you would be.

Monday I got up at 7 because I have the pleasure of chilling with the Sternies for the week and get to put Dylan and Sydney on the bus at the crack of dawn. Then home to shower, and out all day with Meavealicous getting chased by minivans through Pleasantville and Sleepy Hollow. Home early but OF COURSE couldn't sleep till around 2:00. (Sleep Clock- 5 hrs. out of 24)
Tuesday I was up at 7 to do the breakfast/bus thing with the kids which is always tons of fun, then off to Peekskill by 9, then to Bedford to visit Meaver, back to Ytown, into Mohegan Lake to chill with Misha, up to Poughkeepsie for SoCo and then finally to bed at 3:30. (Sleep Clock- 8.5 hrs. out of 48)
Wednesday up at 7, out to do errands in Ytown and Put Valley, Croton Harmon Train Station to pick up Maria and straight to Princeton NJ in Rush Hour Baby! Doesn't get much better than 3 hours on the Turnpike! Drunk by 8, Food by 10, Pool at Midnight, Sober at 2 to drive back to Ytown by 4:30 so I can BE UP BY 7 ON THURSDAY. (Sleep Clock- 11 hrs. out of 72)

So now I have all day to sleep and do nothing, but, yea, I can't sleep. In the immortal words of XOX BEX, "I have to go, I think I hear my gun calling me."

Ok so life sucks in terms of the whole lack of sleeping/living zombie dealie, but other than that this week has been fucking awesome. I got to see so many people and I have tons of fun shit to keep me busy all day and it's just the best thing ever not having any work to do at all, and knowing I'm free from term papers all summer! Wahoo. Other than a certain lame ass beoch (who sucks at life and loves nothing more than picking fights she's destined to lose because I just DONT EVEN CARE anymore) my summer is looking good in the hood so far. I start lifeguard training course next week, and besides that have all day and night to just chill. So awesome, I'm so excited for it to start getting hot out so the beach can be added to my daily agenda! Ok, I'm off to go make tons of noise and accidentally wake up those who CAN sleep because, let's be honest, I'm fucking jealous. :]

Peace Out

Reality

2004-04-26T17:09:53Z

Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE

.I'm not totaly comfortable around you.
.You are so beautiful.
.You were smart enough to tell me to shutup.
.I shouldn't have told you that.
.I have the body of David.
.That place is for geniuses.
.We shouldn't have.It was too soon.It felt fake.Don't you think?.
.You make me nervous.
.We can't tell anybody.
.You're smarter than everyone else, and you know it's true.
.I fucking love you.
.I'm going to like this girl.
.Are you ok?.
.We only shampoo four times a year.
.Use the blue bowl.
.It's not religion, It's God.
.It's because we're always drunk.
.We're different than everyone else.
.I've never felt this way before.Have you?.
.What's up lady.
.You are what I've been waiting for.
.9.Well, 8 and then 9.
.I tried to tell you.

Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE Ever since I met you I feel like I'm in an EMOTIONAL SUBMARINE

Choke

2004-04-26T03:08:28Z

I need a muse.

soleil_bound @ 2004-04-06T00:12:00

2004-04-06T04:46:05Z

A few hours ago my family sat down together to watch the movie Beyond Borders (or something) in the living room. About a half hour into it my grandpa abruptly stood up to leave the room. We were all like, where are you going? Stay and watch the movie! And he says in a thoroughly disgusted voice, "It's too depressing. This is based on a true story you know, it's real. I don't want to watch this." And then he walked out of the room.

I know this probably sound mucho cheesy, but the reality of the ease in which we are able to escape an uncomfortable situation is truly striking. The movie was portraying starving, suffering parts of Africa in wartime. These images made him uncomfortable, and just like that, he (or anyone) is capable of making it go away. I do it all the time... changing the channel or choosing not to watch a certain movie or read a certain book because I know the content won't be a favorable form of "entertainment." It's a choice that everyone subconciously makes countless times throughout a day. But watching him just get up and leave the room, because he wasn't "in the mood" to watch people suffer... like wow. How fucked up is that.

Not that he did anything wrong, like I said I do it all the time. It's just that watching someone else do it made me sick. I've thought about it before, I'm sure everyone does, how easy it is and how fortunate we are to be able to walk away from images of people suffering. The only reason we are capable of this in the first place is because our only exposure to it is so exostential. We only know the definition of true suffering because of our selective revelations through a TELEVISION. But yea, It's crossed my mind before, but when I was in the position of observing someone else walk away, and not doing it myself, it hit me in a different way and I realized just what a selfish lifestyle I lead. Especially under the circumstances, since I was surrounded by my family after a huge meal on a holiday that's all about thankfulness and appreciation.

I didn't say anything to him, because what was I even going to say? I just sat there.

Ascender and Value

2004-03-18T05:31:38Z

So here I am in Florida...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I get along pretty well with my Mom when it's just us. Same with my Dad, only we aren't at all as close. Bex and I are chill so it's usually all good. But for some reason, put all four of us together and ship us off to the south and all hell breaks loose.
I CANT STAND MY FAMILY.
My mother automatically goes into ditz mode and can no longer carry a conversation or work standard hand held tools. My father loses any shred of hearing that he once had, and at the same time feels the need to clog the air by speaking every thought that comes into his head out loud. It took him about 15 minutes to find the headlights on the rental car despite the fact that both me and Becca were telling him where they were. Then he had to read the name of EVERY store out loud the entire way from the airport to the hotel, the next morning from the hotel to breakfast, from breakfast back to the hotel, hotel to "town" (or the sorry excuse for one), and the whole way across Sanibel Island and back. Not that my mother found anything wrong with this; she was preoccupied with trying to find parking along ONE street with countless parking lots and 3 people directing traffic.
On top of my parents newly aqcuired lack of intelligence, all lines of communication between the members of my family have been annihilated. My sister is so fed up with everyone she has ceased any attempt at verbal interactions other than on her cell phone. So she can be subtracted from the equation immediatley. My mother has a mental block against answering any question directly, and has to ask for a full plot summary to back up the simplest questions. This combined with her intensifying senility/dimensia/amnesia makes it impossible to attempt any communication whatsoever.
Example: This morning I asked her if the weather forecast for Sunday had changed, since earlier she told me it was going to snow. She responded by saying it was going to snow Tues. Wed. Thurs. I asked her if the weather forecase for Sunday had changed. She said as far as she knew it wasn't going to snow past Thursday. I reminded her she had said it was going to snow Sunday and she had absolutley no clue what I was talking about. Then the light turned green so she had to drive, and I asked her one last time if the forecast for Sunday had changed and she was like, "What were we just talking about?" and I was like um the weather Sunday... and she was like, oh yea, I didn't look that far into the forecast. I didn't bother reminding her that she TOLD ME IT WAS GOING TO SNOW ON SUNDAY THE DAY BEFORE.
My father is the worst. He blocks out ANYTHING anyone says until you scream it for the third time directly at him, and then he jumps and is like "huh?" He also insists on being insanely difficult in any one-on-one conversation and pretends not to understand the English language for the duration of attempted interaction.
Example: My dad forgot a book on vacation and I told him he could borrow mine but it was the only one I had, so when he was done I wanted to read it on the beach. When we got back to the room I asked him for my book. Dad- what book. me- guess. Dad- which book? me- the book you were reading. Dad- where is it? me- I dont know, you were reading it, that's why I asked you for it. Dad- the paperback? me- Dad, the only book you were reading... the only one I would be asking you for. Dad- How am I supposed to know which book? me- (I walk out the door into the car.) Dad- (tosses a book through the window at me) I ASSUME this is the book youre talking about.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

On a different note- do you ever notice how time is completely inconsistent? It's so weird how it can creep and creep until it becomes absolutely stagnant, and other times it can fly by so fast it's pointless to even try and keep up. When I'm lying on the beach time goes by soo o o o o slow. I guess it's something about the sun and the heat and I dont know but I lie down and I'm dying of heat and it seems like I've listened to every CD I own and it's only been an hour. But then like, 5 seconds later when I decide to shower I get in, get out, and it's been an hour and my whole family is waiting for me and what took me so long. Yes yes, time is a funny little thing, isn't it.

soleil_bound @ 2004-03-08T00:21:00

2004-03-08T05:36:55Z

Today at work three seperate people were all wearing sunglasses inside at the same time. What is going on?

I'm going to Florida on the 16th with the fam. Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Right? No...
For some reason I can't get myself to be excited about it. All I ever want to do is lie on the beach and live in a bathing suit... I watch Blue Crush at least 3 times a week just because I pretend I'm in it and live on the beach. I think about the being beachy 24/7 and now that I'm actually going I could care less. I feel like I would be just as content at home in Yorktown next week. It's not that I don't want to go; I'm just insanely passive about it. What is going on?

-ANYWAY-

On to more weirdness-
Today Nick pulled me downstairs and put his hands on my shoulders and was just staring at my face... and I was like uh what are you doing? And he said he couldn't remember what I looked like. I mean I've actually done that before, tried to picture someone I've known forever in my head and I just can't picture their face, but it made me feel really weird. He was just like, I was at home and realized I couldn't think of what you looked like at all. What is going on?

soleil_bound @ 2004-01-13T01:45:00

2004-01-13T07:11:26Z

I am really not looking forward to going back to school. I like being home, and I don't want to leave Yorktown. You would think I would be the last person in the world to ever say that, being that I was the most outspoken Yorktown-Hater in high school. Now that I'm out of the house I get along great with my parents and have an awesome relationship with my sister. My friends actually call to hang out all the time, and it seems like I always have something to do. Why did everything have to be so shitty when I was forced to live here?

I am the epitome of the want-what-you-cant-have syndrome. As soon as I leave Yorktown I want to be back, and half the time I'm here I fantasize about getting out. I would be quite happy living here, but coming and going as I please. That's what this winter break has ben like. Time flies... Sigh.

On a lighter note, keeping in mind my "come and go as I please" dreamworld, I woke up yesterday and the first thing that popped into my mind was- oh how I wish I had just woken up in Cancun. So I did the only conceivably logical thing... I called Maeve and asked her if she wanted to go to cancun... she said yes.

1:10 pm- Met with a Liberty Travel Agency rep. about last minute deals to Cancun
1:30 pm- Pleaded and bargained with Mother to let me go
1:45 pm- Started a Cancun-or-Bust diet, since I planned to be in a bathing suit within 48 hours
2:30 pm- Drove around aimlessly for a while trying to do anything but think about eating
5:15 pm- Got in a MASSIVE fight with my mother who was "just not comfortable with the plan." Needless to say this escalated into the typical, "why are you trying to control my whole life" fight, that is becoming oh so commonplace in my household. Screaming and crying ensue, exit stage left, slam door.
6:00 pm- Went out to dinner with Becca, who saved my life and calmed me down. Decided that since my mother was adamantly against my wishes to mingle with Mexicans, I may as well try and console myself by stuffing my face. Bashed mom with Bex over buffalo chicken sandwiches and waffle fries for an hour.
7:00 pm- Realize that my bathing suit ambitions are hopeless and may as well go for the carrot cake too...
9:00 pm- So completely stuffed I'm almost glad that I'm not going to any beaches in the near future.
9:30- Mom tells me she booked my flight for Cancun leaving Wednesday
9:45- I tell her she may need to get an extra seat for my newly acquired second ass.

Figures.

test subject

2004-01-13T06:19:58Z

test entry