windham mountian is quite gorgeous, and honestly i had a rather lovely time.  swam in the pool, honed my shuffleboard skills, rode the chairlift to a mountaintop ceremony, got to sit at the head table (with the cool kids, thankyouverymuch)...

it was the perfect relaxing weekend before the week of moving hell i'm preparing for.  can i just say I HATE MOVING, with a burning, fiery, unholy passion?  the hardest part is moving the fallout from the book buying frenzy of 2010, which has led to 4 bookshelves of madness.  fit those in with all the babysitters club mysteries i found in the old house, and you've got quite a conundrum.  luckily there's a spare room in the new place!

the cat is licking my leg and trying to eat my toes, so i'm going to go take a shower, drink a ginger ale, and monopolize the TV, trying to forget that work is less than 24 hours away...

TEN ITEMS FOR THE AGENDA

taking a page from the book of closet monster emails, here are ten items for discussion:

1. i finally broke down and bought some of that Zzzquil to try... because we all know how much i love a good knockout drug.

2. MSND is up on the youtubes here.  haven't watched it myself, i'm lucky this dinosaur even lets me type, but be sure to watch the business with megan ashley and the dog in the fifth act... i hear it brought down the house.

3. the lead singer of vertical horizon looks like lex luthor and at the concert he pointed straight at me and i thought to myself "this is it, all my fangirl dreams are coming true, lex luthor is pointing at me", but he was actually pointing at the guy behind me in a rush tee shirt.  he's still quite dreamy, though.

4.

this bowie shirt has been MIA since 2006

5. leaving tomorrow for a mountaintop wedding, always a good time when the fam gets together.

6. missing the ten year reunion because of it, which is good because there's nothing more frightening than the idea of being out of high school for ten years and accomplishing squat.

7. i just love the movie while you were sleeping, mostly because it has bill pullman and young sandra bullock (lovethem) but also because it's a holiday movie and is just too funny and underrated.

8. according to virtual tourist, brussels is a place to get robbed and murdered, but the biggest danger in switzerland is places where the sidewalks don't meet up correctly and people being grumpy.

9. i can now attest that zzzquil shit really works, because i feel like i'm going to fall asleep on the keyboard.

10. how beautiful to die of broken-heart on paper, quite another thing in practice.

last night midsummer night's dream closed.  i've been working on that show since... may?  so it's a very bittersweet ending.  part of me is relieved it's over, time to spend doing fun things of an evening like taxes and laundry.  part of me always says i won't do it next year, which i know is a lie i tell every year like clockwork.  but mostly i know i'm going to miss it.

one of the actors came up to me before the show started last night, dumped four bouquets of flowers on my table, and said "here's something else for you to manage."  and since i knew that number of flowers were intended for the producers, director, and myself, i just looked at him.  some people truly are out to lunch.

everyone keep your fingers crossed for me in a big way.  i'll let you know once something happens.

the disappointment de jour:  reactivated my premium subscription (4 bucks for one month, who knew?) but none of the old pics are there.  which means that they're lost on the internets forever and ever.  however will i survive without being able to see the winter wonderland ash and i created freshman year in good old bert blue?

usually the wayback machine takes care of these things for me, but lo and behold, no dice!

additionally, old age has broken my nostalgia button, but i'm working on getting it repaired.  drank a coconut coffee this morning, it tasted like being nineteen and working the night shift at the fields.  almost made me want to put on an olsen twin movie and drink peach schnapps in my underwear.  what, isn't that what the other nineteen year olds were doing with their summers?

change is in the air, my friends, in the shape of new houses and new opportunities, green lace dresses and kit kat pinata cakes, murder mystery parties and cars that don't throw showers of rust when hitting potholes.

tonight is the last night of the play.  if you didn't make it, i heard NEAT was filming it, so it'll probably be up here before too terribly long.

lastly, can anyone fault me for having loved this face?

There's just no formatting this post. Apologies. Xanga ate my baby... it's always a good time reading through old posts. it's almost like a time machine, sending me straight back to when i felt every emotion with crippling strength. 2004: loving boywonder, not loving boywonder, playdates with rach, liv, and jacks, emails from wanton closet monsters, canoodling with everett and alex,  meeting peter pan and loving him better than i should have.   2005: discovering i love the theatre, the year without boywonder, letting certain blonde boys use my heart carelessly, leaving increasingly pathetic voicemails at peter pans house, meeting r. prenger, immediately falling in love with r.prenger, more playdates and nanowrimo.   2006: reconciling with boywonder, my lonely year in london, falling in love with london, missing r. prenger, the long island express, meeting a.carr and j.burg, falling in straight up love with a certain ginger hobbit.   2007: graduation, ginger hobbit chases something younger down the hobbit hole, blast from the past with blue eyes, working at the photo place, karaoke queen, monkey cupcakes.   2008 - 2010: the jon bacon years, kmart, marie antoinette, pathetic parties, a falling out with boywonder (apparently, this is obvious but unconfirmed), the fast lane, sleeping in the car at shaws, xbox in manpanties and the kitchen fight that set me free.   2011 - present: credit union, hanson concerts, get thee to a nunnery, back into theatre, apathy, writing like crazy, dreaming of my closet monster and ways to let go of the boywonder situation, 9 hours of sleep, ignoring folks in the hall, singing jacks mannequin as loud as i can.    why do i mention all this? well, lack of regular updates means there will be no archives... and where will i get my wangst when im 30?  a fever that overtakes my brain and makes me forget myself, burning my cheeks bright pink and turning my heart upside down.  and during this fever you'd come to me, bearing treats and tricks and we'd just lay in bed.  you could touch my hair and forehead, and i'd be so hot but you could be so fucking cool.  the fan would blow and the candles would burn out and i'd sleep forever.   and when i finally awoke my eyes would be wide and bright and not heavily laden with sleep and the haze of a thousand endless nights.  rather, they'd be open and waiting to go somewhere big, waiting to drink in tall buildings while my lips sip and drink in hot coffee.   i'd buy the top with the dark green cotton and the deep vee neck and the shimmery silvery sequins and pull on jeans a size too small and we could dance, me in heels even though i already dwarf the population.  and the heat and the noise would creep up the back of my neck and you could blow it away with kisses behind my ears and on my forehead.  and at midnight, ankle deep in icy white snow, a star would fall and people would die and people would be born and still more people would release celebratory screams but the only thing that would matter would be your lips on mine and the champagne bubbles dancing in my eyes and around my brain.

I think my heart has a chemical imbalance...

(disclaimer: 98.6% of everything ive ever written about missing you was directly choreographed by my ovaries, so don't be too terribly flattered when hormonal girls wank about you)

dear boy wonder,

our four year no-talk-iversary is coming up, and this year ive decided to go public with portions of a letter i wrote 3/16/12 but never sent. why? well, because my journal is almost 100% offline now, which leads to less embarrassment but also no catharsis. also it's a free goddamn country (that's the rumor, anyway)

every single night ive been dreaming of tumultuous seas and never your face, some small mercy afforded to me by an act of god or congress, enormous graybrown waves coming to claim me, but the weird part is i don't mind. i always want the water to find me, pull me out, dash me to bits with stormclouds and craggy shores. they should be nightmares but they're not, because i crave an ending.

...

when you're careless and stub your toe, you know it's your fault... does that make the pain go away? clearly not, just like knowing you're the bigger loser in existence for even considering the matter after three years doesn't stop you from considering the matter.

...

it's not all my fault either, this i know because it would be easy and humane for you to say "hey bitch, i hate you because (you're stupid/you slapped my grandmother/i have a girlfriend/you said something mean/im really an alien robot sent to replace the real boy wonder and if i speak to you you'll know the difference and turn me in to the CIA, who are after me because of and incident involving a washing machine) and im never going to talk to you again"

...

but the truth of the matter is that you don't. and the biggest problem with that is the fact that since you decided i wasn't worth the trouble i haven't found a replacement 3am. best friends don't grow on trees, apparently.

...

because you see, nobody breaks my heart. nobody even gets close. i may not even have a heart. it might just be lighter fluid and cotton balls in there.

...

long story short im going to work on that whole getting a life thing, but will probably still look at every blue Volvo with disgust and suspicion. oh, and honestly i always hated your music, but whenever they play wonderwall i will probably still go into a five minute pity coma. i am a girl after all, and as history shows not a very rational one.

yours out of habit,
lucy, patron saint of storytelling, broken hearts, and wine coolers

Sometimes I read over my archives (and yes, the fact that I have archives proves what a silly, narcissistic little prancy pants I am) and it's like my brain is literally shot back in time. Total out of body experience.

I am nineteen years old.
I love my body.
I love my friends, have had them for years, and they will never discover what a fuckwit I am and leave me.
I have a wide open future ahead of me.
I have no debt.
I have a best friend that totally gets me, and I'm not afraid to hug her.
I am not afraid to be hugged.
I have a boy named wonder, and he will never ever hurt or ignore me (he told me so himself, and boys never lie).
I believe that my words will make a difference.
I think dick cheney is a robot.
I abuse nyquil to fall asleep (some things never do change).
I spend a lot of time on AIM with a really smart, awesome professor, and he will never know how much I suck.
I also spend a lot of time on AIM with a really smart, awesome closet monster, and he is also unaware of my suck level.
I don't actually think I suck.
I believe we will all do exactly why we set out to accomplish.

All of this sounds very melancholy but it isn't. Life is turning, burning, changing shape. My time consists of family dinners and ticket sales, martha stewart food porn and charming company, putting Abe Lincoln in his place and acid trip quality dreams... And through it all I find myself with a funny optimistic feeling that might be totally unwarranted but feels nice just the same.

I dunno. It's Sunday night and I'm home alone, with nothing but a recently discovered spotty wifi signal. I need some schnapps to drink. As Paul Gamba would say... "what are you, fucking 16?!"

I am out of practice with this. Blog-apologies.

 mostly because i'm in the library and partly because i just don't feel much like spilling my soul here is a visual update on the last month (and llamar, someday i will upload and share my cali pics, but the internet and i are like exes that don't talk, pretending we don't see each other in the supermarket).

sigh.  bring on the fall!

here's the thing.  i know there's going to be a lot of thoughts about this that read something like "get a grip, whine-ass, you're only digging yourself in deeper", but what good is having a journal if you don't tell the truth?

i wrote many pages behind a haze of tears, and thankfully i'm not connected to the interwebz at home so you may never get to read them.  but the truth is i feel a lot like that commercial... "where does depression hurt? ... everywhere" because lately it seems like nothing is good.  everything hurts, people are stupid, i'm worthless, and after all this struggle and bullshit we end up dying anyway.

it's a lot like this:

(and yes, allie brosh is jesus)

the point is, it's hard to keep myself on the level lately, between crying jags and listless afternoons hiding in bed.  so if i've been a pain in the ass, rude, mopey, or useless, i'm sorry.  i'm just so tired, and tired of being lonely, and so tired.  so so tired.

anyway, here's some current obsessions (also known as, planning my afternoon):

ps. one of these days you're probably going to wake up and realize whatever it was you think i did to you (said, wrote, whatever) i didn't do.  i hope you do, anyway.  because that's the truth.  there's no crime that could fit this punishment.  and that's all i'll say on the subject today.