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So, I was going to write something about how I was re-vamping this old thing.  How I was going to start recording my thoughts here.  To have an electronic record of the random shit I think about instead of just random documents on my computer with titles like "A Diabtriabe on Prostituiona After Watching HBO's Cathouse" or "Patrotism and the Cult of Personality".  I was going to write something about how I deleted my "David" tag because he moved to China for two years and I can't talk about him.  

But tonight after work I was heading into the subway, the F train station on 63rd and Lexington, and I was stopped as I headed to the turnstiles by a loud sound.  I turned to see a few policemen runnning towards me.  I stopped and stared as they ran down the stairs into the station and pulled hte emergency exit gate open.  I had seen this before, police and EMT's running into the station.  I once saw a woman go into labour on the subway.  But, they just kept coming.  Pretty soon I had counted about 20 policemen who I just watched as they ran down the escalators into the subway.

I asked the MTA worker in the box at the station and he told me that the F was suspended, I asked him why and he told me he didn't know.  He just kept watching the TV monitors above his head.  I was about to head to the E train when he told me it was also suspended and he also didnt know why.  He said it was suspended in Manhattan, but not Queens, which, you know, would have been fine if I was IN Queens not trying to get TO Queens, and if I wasn't, you know, terrified.

There was another man who was trying to get to Queens, we had a brief conversation and he decided to brave the N-to 7-to E transfer while I decided to take a cab.  As he walked away, I briefly worried if he would be okay. I knew I was over-reacting, I knew everything was probably fine, I knew, but I worried about him, just for a brief second.  Just for a brief second I felt like if the world blew up right now, if everything suddenly devolved into chaos, that we would be stuck in it together, that I would want to make sure this nice, 40-year-old man with glasses was okay.

I grabbed a cab and as we drove down Broadway in Queens, I saw people pouring out of the subways which had apparently now been suspended in Queens, they were all talking and attempting to hail cabs.  Just mobs of people, an entire subway train emptied onto about two blocks of street.  I was talking to the cab driver, an incredibly nice man about what was happening, and again, as he dropped me off and drove away, I worried about him, just for a minute.  Maybe it was because he was telling me about how he was an accountant, and he had lost his job and was driving a cab to make ends meet.  He seemed kind and hard-working and just a guy who was trying to do the best he could.  I would have thought about him anyway as he drove away, but I felt my heart still pounding as I ran to my house, up my stairs, through my door, up the apartment stairs and into my room to flip on New York 1.

I still don't know anything, still haven't heard anything and it's probably nothing, nothing at all, some weird police investigation.  It's probably nothing at all, but it's one of those moments where I understand what the phrase "A Post 9/11 World" means and it's one of those moments where I'm kind of okay with what it means.

Because a post 9/11 world, in my opinion, doesn't necessarily mean a world where we all live in fear.  A world where we are paranoid about patriotism and mosques and anyone different than us.

It sometimes means a world where we are ready to go at any minute, a world where we are ready to grab the hand of the stranger next to us, someone we don't even know, someone we might have even found irritating on the subway five-seconds ago.  It's about a strange closeness that can occur in a city of millions of people, where we often meet but don't touch, where we see hundreds of people every single day we never speak to.  It's where "See Something, Say Something" is sadly necessary, but means something.  It's a world where someone in Times Square, a t-shirt vendor who sells "I <3 NY" t-shirts to people all day, loves New York enough to say something and saves peoples lives.

It's like when you make friends with the guy next to you when your subway is stuck underground for 20 minutes, it's when you give a seat to a pregnant lady and end up playing with her baby the whole train ride, it's when you get stuck at a random bus stop in the snow and huddle in a circle with people you've never met before to protect yourselves from the window.

A post 9/11 world is sometimes a world where we realize that no man is an island.

I'm being silly and sentimental, but there are moments in a giant city that feel more intimate than any one on one conversation.  It's a sense of community in a place that can feel like a soulless concrete jungle.

Ugh, I'm feeling really dumb about writing this now.  But I had a post 9/11 world moment.

It's a moment when we realize it's not us against them, it's us with us.

And I just feel like that's worth writing about.
Current Mood:
anxious anxious
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Oh hey, what's up, it's January.

Not much going on.  Reading the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, taking a Jan class, going to shows, interning, looking for apartments for my boyfriend, being a moony whiny girl about the fact that the isn't here yet, watching Jersey Shore shamefully, and singing Glee all the damn time.

It's cold as...a very cold thing here.  Like, I'm going to go buy wool tights to wear under all my clothes cold.  Also, it snowed in Texas the day after I went to visit.  Because I am magic. And made it snow.

I'm thrilled beyond all belief because I got a 3.7 the last term, which is just awesome.  I mean, to be fair, I'm finally a senior and taking classes I WANT to take, but I still had to work my ass of on them and I feel I'm allowed to be proud.  Yay for smartness!  And speaking of smartness, yay for taking only one Jan class and being able to read what I want!

So, there's some shitty things happening as well, but I've been able to keep my head above the water.  Mostly through the fact that I'm seeing what a passionate, wonderful group of people can do, either for the whole world, or just for one person that we care about.  And the fact that I'm seeing that this group of passionate, wonderful people is my friends.  My friends rock my fucking world upside down and around.

So that's that.  I'm going to a play opening night and after party tomorrow.  But really, other than that, my cosmopolitan life is...kinda boring.

But good.

Good and boring.
Current Mood:
cold cold
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You know what's strange about being apart?  You feel like you miss the person the most when you're the farthest away from seeing them again, when you've got months and months and months to go and you feel like your heart and mind could not miss someone more than you miss them right then.  But you discover, I think, the closer you get to seeing them again, the more and more you miss them..

I haven't been around lately.  I haven't been much of anywhere.  Lots of things that are too personal and private for even me, who has no shame, to put here...it's been a cycle of school work school work sleep maybe school work sleep.

There's been lots of comfort food and hulu watching, and lots of expensive phone calls to China that keep proving to be worth every cent...

Other than that big roadblock, things have been good.

Tonight was an interesting night.  I had a class called Beyond Naturalism, and the best way to think about it is that it's a class in performance art.  Our latest assignment had the following guidelines:

 - Pick an obsession
- Your piece must be apocalyptic
- Your piece must include music not generated from a boombox or ipod
- You must generate sound from your body
- Your piece may not include any spoken text

yeah, it's that kind of class.

Anyway, me and my partner chose the obsession with water.  We hung a Brita pitcher form the ceiling and wandered around searching for water.  Our essential idea was that the world had ended, but not too long ago.  We were stumbling in nice clothes that were starting to fall apart and heels. 
Well, we thought it would be a good idea to ask some people in the front row to squirt us with water bottles.  We gave water bottles to three people, including our teacher, Kevin.

Bad idea.

Kevin took the top of his water bottle, and about halfway through the piece just started throwing tons of water on us.  We went from being slightly splashed as planned, to rolling around on the floor, soaked to the bone, literally swimming in water.  I also ended up in just a top and pantyhose.  The piece ended with me falling off a block because I was so covered in water, and dying from dehydration.

God being a theatre major is weird.

It was so good, so very very good to be able to totally let go.  To be able to just act in total desperation, to live on stage moment to moment to moment and react in the moment.  Our piece went nothing like we had planned for it to, but that made is that much more fantastic.

It was something I needed.  Because for the past few weeks I've just been going day-to-day, not really with any big motivation or anything big I'm looking forward to.  And it's not a huge thing.  it's not some big depression.  It's just circumstances that make life really hard for a little while.

Anyway, I don't really know where this was going.  I just know it feels good to be tired and sore and raw and real and not numb, but as beyond it as possible.
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Because tonight, after I was stopped by some guys who wanted directions, and pointed them to the bar they were looking for, one of them yelled after me that he "liked my ass" and when I then flipped him off told me it was because "it's so big".  Then I got home and looked on the counter and saw a Cosmo headline reading "The Sexy Ass Workout: 2 Weeks to Tight Cheeks".

Does that about sum it up?
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I have the flu. Yay, the flu. I went to the doctor after almost passing out in a pile of bras while I was closing up the store, and my manager arguging with me when I kept saying "No, it's fine, I can keep folding" and her having to argue with me and finally go "OH MY GOD JUST GO HOME! YOU ARE GETTING ALL YOUR GERMS ON THE BRAS! THE BRAS CATIE!".

So, after my weekly head-shrink appointment, where we talked about my fear of getting sick and dying and how everytime I'm sick I freak out (have I mentioned I love my psychologist? I love her. LOVE. HER.) I go to the doctor and he goes "Hmmm...flu symptoms. Have you been on a a plane recentlly?". I go "Um, yeah...last week." in a "Huh-why-does-that-matter-" type of voice and then my eyes get really big and he looks and me and goes, very calmly "Yeah, I think you have swine flu."

And that was the part where I died and hyperventilated on the stupid little bed and grabbed the paper sheet that covers the bed in my fists and started ripping it into pieces and was all "HAHHA BTW THAT PROZAC I TOLD YOU I TAKE WHEN YOU ASKED IF I TOOK ANY OTHER MEDICINES, THAT'S FOR AN ANXIETY DISORDER HAHAHAHAHA".

So, he tests me for swine flu. SWINE FLU. And comes back and tells me, hey guess what the test says you don't have it, but also, hey guess what the test is only about 70% effective and I totally still think you have it. So, he gave me tons of medicine and told me to lay up in bed and I might just kill everybody I come in contact with (okay, not really, he said if I DO have it, it's really just a bad flu and just wash your hands and have you rooomates wash their hands and don't make out with anyone and you'll be FINE CRAZY LADY).

I feel like I had it coming, because I've been out every damn night on the LES. The night before I got sick, I went out to watch Jemma take pictures for my friend Bree's mix-tape, which involved her posing with fried chicken in rollerskates around Chinatown...the bizarre-ness of which had me turning to various people and going in the most psychotic voice "oh my god you guys, this is so fucking scene right? so fucking scene. So. fucking. scene."

So, I'm in bed, feeling shitty, so here is a list of things that make me happy and/or are curretnly occupying my mind:

1) Inglorious Basterds

I mean, I talked about this movie for like, A YEAR, before it came out, and when it finally did, it meet all my expectations, and now I am a total nerd for it. Tres suprise.

2) True Blood


Also, I am way way wayyyy to upset about the (hopefully temporary) demise of Jessica/Hoyt. Stop being stupid Hoyt. I would have bitten your mom too, and I'm not even a goddamn vampire.

3) The Season 3 Premiere of The Big Bang Theory

I love this show. And if real life nerds can't return from China, then TV-show nerds should at least return from the Antarartic. Or is the Artic? Not sure.

Mind you, I'm pants-shittingly-excited over the return of a ton of shows, but I just watch the new promo for TBBT and my god, it looks so fucking cute!

4) The Pierces.

I know they were featured on Gossip Girl a while back, but I just got into them when one of their songs was on the new CD we got at work. Our new "mixtapes" were done by different college radio stations, and the newest one has "Sticks and Stones" and oh my, it is awesome.  Go look them up.  Now.  Seriously, go.

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Medium: Television
Fandom: True Blood
Character: Sarah Newlin
Title: And You Were Not The Same After That...
Warnings: Swearing and references to hot church sex


Not The Same – Ben Folds

you gave your life to Jesus Christ/and after all your friends went home/you came down/you looked around/and you were not the same after that/you see them drop like flies from the bright sunny skies/they come knocking at your door with this look in their eyes/you’ve got one good trick and you’re hanging/you’re hanging on to it

To me, this song always has and always will be about a young woman caught up in a religion that is lead originally by good-hearted people but ends up becoming all-consuming and frightening and messing her up forever. So really, I guess to me this song is about Sarah.

Mama Who Bore Me – From Spring Awakening

mama who bore/mama who gave me/no way to handle things/who made me so sad/mama the weeping/mama the angels/no sleep in heaven/or Bethlehem/some pray that one day Christ will come a calling/they light a candle and hope that it glows

The things in your life, in your childhood, that you are taught are bad or dirty or wrong. The way you are told to act one way while you see your family disintegrate around you. The way your mother tells you that you are dirty and bad and your father drinks himself into a stupor before he comes home. But you get cleaned up and pretty for church, because everything at church is pretty and clean and you can’t see that the other pretty clean people are drunk and dark and just as fucked up as your family inside their own homes…

Son Of a Preacher Man – Dusty Springfield

being good isn’t always is/no matter how hard I try/when he started sweet-talkin to me/he’d come and tell me everything is alright/can I get away again tonight/the only one who could ever reach/was the son of a preacher man/the only boy who could ever teach me/was the song of a preacher man

Sarah meets Steve. He’s clean and smart and a well-mannered young boy. And above it all, he’s at the center of it all. He’s ordained by God himself as a good boy, a good man. He’s lovely and perfect and most of all, the son of a preacher man.

Love Story – Taylor Swift

romeo take me somewhere we can be alone/i’ll be waiting all that’s left to do is run/you’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess/it’s a love story baby just say yes

My god, can’t you just imagine Sarah listening to this and flipping through wedding pictures? I can.

Stand Still, Look Pretty – The Wreckers

i am slowly falling apart/i’d wish you take a walk in my shoes for a start/and you might think it’s easy being me/you just stand still look pretty/sometimes I find myself shaking in the middle of the night/and then it hits me and I can’t even believe this is my life

Before Jason, the cracks begin to show. The way the things that make you privileged and special, your hands and hair and smile and eyes, can hold you down more than anything. And so Sarah becomes the way she is, struggling for power, climbing up against all odds, for just a chance to be Mrs. Somebody Special.

Flower – Liz Phair

every time I see your face/I get all wet between my legs/every time you pass me by/I heave a sigh of pain/Every time I see your face I think of things un-pure unchaste/I want to fuck you like a dog

Jason Stackhouse is enough to make anybody want to break a vow or two…

My Give A Damn’s Busted – Jo Dee Messina

well you filled up my head with so many lies/twisted my heart till something snapped inside/I’d like to give it one more try/but my give a damn’s busted/you can crawl back home and say you were wrong/stand out in the yard and cry all night long/go ahead and water the lawn/my give a damn’s busted

What happens when you discover the love of your life isn’t the person you love? He uses the C-word. THE C-WORD JASON!

Misguided Magdalene – Miss Tammy Faye Starlight and The Angels of Mercy

she said lord/I’m a sinner/won’t you wash my body clean/she said lord/I’m a singer/won’t you wash my body clean/he said girl you ain’t no sinner/just misguided/misguided Magdalene

A delightfully uncomfortable song about wanting to get down on your knees and praise Jesus. One of the things that’s fundamentally fucked up about Sarah is her inability to separate God and sex.

Sin Wagon – The Dixie Chicks

well now I’ve been good for way to long/found my red dress and I’m gonna throw it on/bout to get too far gone/praise the lord and pass the ammunition/need a little bit more of what I’ve been missin/I don’t know where I’ll be crashin/but I’m ridin on the sin wagon

The fucking-in-a-chuch song

Both Sides Now – Joni Mitchell

but now its just another show/you leave em laughing when you go/and if you care/don’t let them know/don’t give yourself away/i’ve looked at love from both sides now/from give and take/and still somehow/it’s loves illusions I recall/i really don’t know love at all

What if Jason is bad, and Steven is bad, and everything you thought was wrong? And how do you pick up the pieces after that?

Down to the River to Pray – Allison Krauss

oh sisters let’s go down/come on down/let’s go down/oh sisters let’s go down/down in the river to pray

While this is a song about God, it has this terribly sad lilting quality to is, as if you are going down to the river to pray because there is nothing else you can do, as if you have run out of options, as if your husband uses the c-word and yes it is a big deal because it’s this tangible representation of everything you thought you stood against together and the guy you screwed in a church is turning out to just be a guy you screwed in a church and not the new love of your life and you have nothing to do but get on your knees and pray and pray and pray and pray.

Zip Here
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Something...interesting happened tonight.

I got in a cab. Simple enough. I was planning on paying with my debit card, as I had no more cash with me and had lost my debit card a few weeks ago and my new one hasn't come in yet. When my card was declined I told the driver. Well, to be clear, I asked the driver to turn down his very fucking loud music and told him that my card wasn't working, I had no money and since we were at my apartment, I would run up and get it. I pulled a book out of my bag, and set it down on the seat and told him I would leave it. Very strangely, he asked me what book. I told him it was A Wrinkle in Time, which I am currently re-reading. I also, again very strangely, mentioned that it was a good book.
He then started yelling. Not raising his voice, yelling, screaming at me from the front seat of the car. I believe the term used was "crazy bitch". He then started demanding I leave my whole bag in the car. When I told him the whole contents of my bag was worth way more than the fare and that I wasn't willing to do that, he started yelling more. He continued to threaten me, and scream and call me names. He told me he was going to call the police. I said okay, but I told him the police were only going to have me go get the money that was in my apartment. He turned, laughed and said "Oh, you just wait. I'm going to call the police on you. They are going to make you pay me my money". I told him I wanted to pay him his money, when at that moment, the car door on the front seat was wrenched open. A long arm reached in, grabbed the driver by the collar of his shirt, and threw a $10 bill in his face. Someone else then opened the car door next to me, and I scrambled out as quickly as possible. There was a man standing there, telling the cab driver in no uncertain words that he would kick his ass. The cab driver then leaned out of the car, past the man who was standing there, and informed me that the man had paid for me. He then proceeded to scream at me that I needed to pay the man back, that I better pay the man back, that I was mean and ungrateful, that I knew I had no money when I got in the car. So, I'm standing there, on the sidewalk crying, talking to the man who paid for me, telling him to follow me, that I would pay him back. He followed me up, volunteered to wait in the hall, and I grabbed a $20 bill. I gave it to him, telling him to take it all, he didn't argue much and I didn't mind. He told me to not let people pick on me, to not let another guy make me cry, and walked away.

The thing that's funny about this is: I feel bad. See, this has happened before. That time I also refused to leave my bag with the man, and that time, rather than calling the police or having another person intervene, the cab driver locked the doors and attempted to drive to the police station with me screaming in the back of the car. After realizing that showing up to a police station with a crying screaming girl in the back of his car wasn't a good idea, he pulled over and told me to get the hell out of his car, which I kindly did. That time, I spent the next few days and hours debating whether or not I had done the right thing and feeling bad about how that man didn't get his $7.50 I owed him in fare.

I'm determined not to do that this time. The meeting I had with my therapist on Friday, so ironic in retrospect, about how sometimes you have to be a bitch, have to stand up for yourself, have to take care of yourself first and foremost and no that doesn't make you a bad person, is still in my head.

I've been thinking a lot lately about doing what I want, regardless of anything or anyone else. I don't mean walking all over people. I mean not leaving my phone and iPod and wallet in the back of a car with a man I don't know, I mean eating the ice cream I want to eat along with my naturally size-0 friend, I mean telling a guy at a bar that no I do not want to dance with you, no I do not want to talk to you, and no you will not get my number or into my pants tonight. And I've been thinking about it in how it relates to me as a woman, and women in general. That I feel like it's more acceptable for men to stand up for themselves than women, that a man is strong while a woman is a bitch.

Perhaps I'm going to far making this about women in general. Maybe this is really about whether or not I should have left my bag with the cab driver. But I can't help thinking he wouldn't have yelled at me and attempted to intimidate me had I not been young and female. I certainly don't think he would have called me a "crazy bitch". And I do know for a fact that being female has led into me having a complex about standing up for myself and being perceived as "being a bitch".

For now, I'm not worrying about it, I'm sitting back, watching The Nanny and throwing back a beer.
Current Mood:
contemplative contemplative
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Short this time, but...


Read this and simply replace the word "spouse" with "boyfriend" and I'll lay out the welcome mat because you have just entered my life.

Current Mood:
amused amused
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To start with the lame and get to the awesome:

This morning I fell. In the bathroom. I slipped on the wet floor and hurt my foot, brusing it on the tile as well as possibly straining it a little bit. While in my underwear. And my roommate, who's boyfriend is in town, had to come rescue me. While her boyfriend stood in the other room because I was screaming that I was naked. The best part was after she tended to my foot and helped me stand up, she ventured into my room and grabbed pajama pants and threw them at me. And I then came out of the bathroom moments later as she stood there with an ice-pack brandishing the soaked back of my underwear at her.

That's good roommates right there.

The best part of the story is I'm working an over-night floor set tonight, and I'm hoping that they just sit me down in the stock room and make me organize shit. So until then I'll sit there and watch The Golden Girls.

The other night I got bored and walked around the Lower East Side at night. As I passed by one bar, there was a group of guys standing outside. One stopped me.
"I know you're going on your way *hiccup* but I want to ask you a question. Should I (points to man on the sidewalk who is leaning on the wall that makes up the front of the bar) give him a noogie?"
I reply, with loads of sarcasm.
"A Noogie? I think I remember those from elementary school?"
Rather than sensing my sarcasm, the guy got really really excited.
"YES! A NOOGIE! I should right, I should?"
I glanced over at the proposed victim who was holding hands with a woman, who very helpfully pointed across the sidewalk to the other other man standing by the fire hydrant and said
"It's his birthday"
I glanced at all three men, the one in front of the bar, the birthday boy by the fire hydrant, and the very excited young man in front of me.
"Well if it's his birthday you should give him a noogie"
The guy literally, literally, started jumping up and down. As he ran over to give a noogie to the birthday guy by the hydrant I walked away, but I heard him yell this after me

"That girl is awesome! You are AWESOME! She has like, opinions! Opinions man! Opinions!"

Opinions. Shocking.

FOOT UPDATE: I just got off an over-night shift at work. My foot is now very very swollen and many different colors. Crap.
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Last night/this morning, was one of those nights where every time you are tired and about to go home, something happens. For example, you leave one person after walking around 5th Avenue all night, staring longingly into windows at things you can't possibly afford, and decide to go home because it's midnight and then as your walking to the subway stop your other friend calls you and ask you to go to Le Possion Rouge and you end up there and then you end up at the Skinny and the next thing you know it's 11:00 am and your in Brooklyn, asleep on a coach after watching the most fucked up horror movie you have ever seen in your entire life.

How do people who are cool do this every night? I mean, I need a break every once in a while to spend my whole night on the internet. But people who are infinitely cooler than me seem to not be able to sleep. Is this one of those skills I didn't learn in high school because I hung out in the theater most of the time? Or when you are born, do you just inherit this awesome coolness and when you do you are also given this gene that allows you not to sleep?

Maybe really cool people just do more drugs than me?

Well, goodnight finally. Or good morning. Afternoon. whatever.

PS: That fucked up movie was called "Inside" and it's a French horror film that will haunt your dreams (if you're interested). There's a pregnant lady, a crazy lady, a white tiled bathroom and scissors. Oh god scissors.

OH! OH! I also ate a pumpkin cupcake from Sugar Sweet Sunshine. Pumpkin! Cupcake! They are delicious, and you should go eat one!
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