Note To Self #1

I feel and look like absolute crap today. Throwing up your insides for hours upon end isn't the best way to spend one's day. SO in order to prevent myself from turning into a vegetable, the mind must be stimulated!
I'm going to try out this commentary on life deal out...let me explain: I've compiled various ramblings in my head, onto my Blackberry which I have lost and found numerous times. That is the only hint I can give as to when these thoughts occurred. There really is not specific time line and I cannot and will not share who or what these thoughts are connected to. I might start doing this once in a great while...filter my brain out.
In no particular order.

1. ...you have detachable braces.
2. boy roasting beans, you are handsome.
3. the asians are dominating the big wooden table.
4. nice hair asshole.
5. this apricot compote is blowing my mind.
6. i fucking hate this song. i can't stop snapping my fingers. damn you rivers.
7. feeling like charlie from high fidelity.
8. great i have no fucking money, i'm going to kill everyone.
9. this person on the train is reading a book that i love. my day is made.
10. can't wake up with out thinking about him.
11. charlie kaufman's doppelganger is at the two way everybody. apparently, he's into circle scarves made by his friends.
12. "i feel like he died, your his wife and they sent you his writing"
13. "sometimes i feel like a warden."
14. note to self: don't forget to buy chorizo for mom.

Shangri la

I always want to leave. Always. So, I escape. I go far enough away. The town is pretty desolate, but there's a lot to do. So, I do these things. The people are nice, but you don't see them unless you go to a bar. They're always at the bar. Always. They insipidly tell you about their day. You listen because you have nothing better to do.

I always want to come back. Always. So, I come back. I miss it and I feel the pull. I need the fast pace and I need the drive of others. There's a sigh of relief when I see the skyline. The people are wrapped up in their own little worlds. You go out and they don't look at you twice; this is how it always is. Always. I stay close to what's familiar and leave with whatever intrigues me.

Chinatown

Disposable camera.
Chinese New Year. Literary Muffin Sunday. Valentine's Day. The Sabbath.
More than a few.

Outside.

It gets hard to remember what it's like. Almost complete darkness is mandatory. The moon and stars come to center stage and it gets hard to pull my eyes away from anything else. It doesn't matter if I'm laying in the grass or sitting on the 5x5 cement front porch. Controlled immobility. Relaxed breathing. Time becomes non-existent which is the best relief to exist. Thoughts begin filtering through at the exact pace where I stop second guessing things. The probability of being interrupted is practically impossible since no one leaves the house after 9pm in these parts. You think I'm kidding? Porch lights are even off, they don't bother to keep them on anymore.

When the opportunity presents itself, I take full advantage. This is the only time in the world where I can function coherently. Most kids will say they need the distraction "to be one with the world", well, I've never felt more part of anything when I get it. I'm knowledgeable about everyone and everything...especially myself. The chips fall into place if you will.

This is silence and It's mine.

Sub Zero Fun

"Are you drying?" hollered the Polish man sitting on the dirty tile.
"Yeah", I reply.
"Did you hand-wash all of those?"
"Yes...I mean, no what? They appear hand-washed but it's just because my washer didn't go through it's final spin cycle or something. I tried drying them, but then my dryer ate the quarters...so on and so forth. I just need to dry my clothes." I struggled for my words.
"Why did you say you hand-washed them if you didn't?"
"Because sometimes I unconsciously slip into this mode of utter contradiction."
"Wha-OKAY. Did you not read the sign? You can't just come here to dry your clothes. You could break the machine if you're not using my washers. I'd be throwing away thousands of dollars because you need to dry your clothes! You know nothing of the hazards!"
"Listen, my dryer is broken. I just want to dry my clothes. I'm sorry, I usually do both here, but it just so happens I tried giving my basement facility a shot and it failed me ."
"This one time only, young lady. Never do this again, you hear me? I don't have time to put up with some little girl's nonsense."
"Okay. I am sorry, again."

Hours pass...I convince myself that consuming a fresh pan of Potatoes Au Gratin is more important that anything else that could possibly be happening in my life. My mind aches on the inconvenience of doing laundry. "If only I could stop wiping my dirty hands on that pair of jeans I wear daily, I wouldn't have to worry about this shit." This brings me to the realization of having to possibly face the rudest laundromat owner I have ever encountered, which isn't saying much. But things must be accomplished, so I decide to walk across the street.

The snow has gotten worse. Upon arrival I see my clothes sitting in a basket. The dryer is empty and my first thought is "who could even bare the thought of touching my laundry?"

"HEY. YOUNG LADY where have you been? It has been over three hours! Did you not see the sign? Clothes must be taken out immediately.... or a fire might happen!"It's the same guy.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize. Time got away from me...I didn't mean to ignore my laundry duties," I not so confidently explain.
"Listen, young lady...you are really walking the line of disrespect. You can not leave your laundry around. Someone could steal your clothes! I'm going to tell you to not come back here again, OKAY?"

I feel awkward. As I pick up my basket of black half dried clothing, I let out a deep sigh..."Sorry, guy." I feel defeated. Walking towards the door I hear the Polak shout "I'm serious!" I just shake my head and bow out.

The snow is coming down in such a fashion that I can hardly see my apartment building across the street. Closing my eyes to keep the snowflakes out was a mistake. I trip on the curb. My clothes and I fall in the only part of the road that is full of slush. I lay on the side of the road in absolute shock and boarder line fury. The door to the laundromat swings open and I hear a familiar voice say "Hey you young lady, so you going to need to washer and dryer then?"

Hopey, Changey Stuff

Don't get me wrong...I LOVE tea parties. I've even recently purchased a lovely, yellow vintage teapot the other day for $10 more than I should have! I splurge on organic honey for that new twist on sweetness. Although...of all the possible subjects one could choose to bring up while sipping on a warm cup of green minty goodness, why the love of a country?
For one, I would think my fellow Tea Partiers would be slightly offended by me questioning with much enthusiasm, "Do you love your freedom?" I wasn't even aware that people were still asking that question? One would think after a while, this whole "free will" thing would be simply understood.

Now, I'm not going to question those who are still unsure if we are currently living in a free country or not...even the most loyal of our country, who shout with such pride, "MERICUH"...sometimes are looking for a simple reminder (juuuust in case they forget where they are.) There is nothing wrong with that. My memory is terrible. Sometimes I forget to start my car before I start driving it. Shit happens.

The secret to having a successful Tea Party is to first of all, invite EVERYONE, preferably the entire nation. Then you have to pretend that you're not a failure in life and redundantly pick on those who are actually trying to accomplish something. AND THEN you have to openly say things like, "This was all part of that hope and change and transparency. Now, a year later, I gotta ask the supporters of all that, 'How's that hopey, changey stuff working out?'" and expect people to take you seriously afterward. Finally and this may be the most important thing to remember...when someone asks you a serious question, never give them a direct answer. If possible, beat around the bush for as long as possible and just when they think you're going to come to a conclusion, tell everyone to "Have a good night!"

As people in Nashville left the most successful Tea Party to date, which was closed out by patriotic superstar, Sarah Palin, attendees were asked "What made you attend THIS Tea Party out of all the other ones happening this week?" majority answered, "I thought there was going to be free shit."

What is he building in there?

There's this guy. He's about 50 years old and Asian. Uniform: black wool trench coat. Before I get ahead of myself, for convenience purposes, let's name the man Harry. He looks like a Harry (not Potter) but if any Asian man were to be named Harry, it'd be this guy. Harry sits in the same place at the same coffee shop everyday. How I know this if I'm not there everyday? I just do. I just do.
It's comforting when I walk the stairs to the dimly lit table in the back and see him sitting at the far left corner. He's the watchman. Harry probably won't look at you while you're getting your work done, but he'll certainly acknowledge your initial presence and will always say goodbye when leaving. I can hardly understand a fucking word he says. I don't think anyone really can. I am almost positive he's a genius.
I think I'm getting ahead of myself though...I wanted to set up a real scenery for you. Let's talk about the coffee shop. Harry's domain, if you will. This coffee shop is a place where all homework, side-work, fun-work is fully accomplished. The people here have focus and I like it. The couple in the corner have made a make-shift home office. The guy even has his shoes off for crying-out-loud and is using the decorative pillows as his laptop rest. Instead of going in-depth about decor, let's just say it looks like small house that is owned by an artist who is very conscious of lighting...are you still with me?
Harry is the ultimate observer. He sits there soaking everyone's creative energy in. The man does have a laptop. What is he writing so intently about? Let's be honest here... this is Breakfast at Tiffany's except there is no expensive jewelry and no story line that involves the concept of love. What isn't realized is that we're all being fooled. We're all part of his next great novel or crappy article on some web page that no one has heard of. Either way, we're a part of it.

Harry says, "Have a nice day" and the back of my mind chimes "Thanks for the material."

I'm your "Yes" girl.

"I'm not trying to live vicariously through you. I have my own interests. We are bound to share some of those interests. Holy shit, I love rock music too...go off on me and say how unoriginal I am. I have my own opinion and I am capable of explaining why I feel and act the way I do. We both agree that consciousness is basically the most important trait for a person to possess. As if philosophy was designed for only you and your 'group of friends'. "

"You're a product of your environment. You surround yourself with idiots, with people who don't care about you."

"Sorry for assuming that maybe a few of these supposed idiots could be genuinely interested in my point of view. I don't expect the worst from people and maybe I'm a fucking fool for that. If I need to shut myself out for a while and simply do nothing but educate myself without the slightest bit of affection in between, then so be it. I like how you question my capability of enjoying the pleasure of my own company. I'm so content with being alone that everyone else could really 'fuck off' and I'd still be trucking along."

"I think you care about this relationship too much. You need to focus on yourself."

"What the hell have I been saying for the past...however long? Are you listening to me?"

"The thing is, I don't trust you. You are a LIAR."

"I've told you nothing but the truth since we've started talking again. You're the reason I'm fucking obsessed with the truth now. I feel insane."

"I need to go let this dog in the house. I need to finish working. I have a busy day. Call me when your off of work and we can talk some more. Don't think about me."

"I'm going to think about this the rest of the day."

Organs will start to fail me.

Blogging. Inspired or just plain bored? Only time will tell. This could get pretty profound. This could turn into something like confetti. Although, if things get weird....which is a possibility, don't say I didn't warn you. I haven't a clue where this is going. If anyone should be scared it's me. Nightmares of strangers reading my thoughts could become a common occurrence. People coming up to me in "real life" asking "Hey, what was up with yesterday's post? Are you mad at me or just plain mad?" The truth is, I wouldn't have a damn clue how to respond to that question. I feel so unprepared.
Blogging is comparable to throwing up your insides in small portions at random. Yeah.

This header is a dead give away that part of me is still 7 years old. Hi, I'm Jen...a 22 year old just trying to make friends with the internet.