nostalgia soothes the restless
I am not sure what it means exactly when you’re the writer of loafe.com and you spend a lovely saturday afternoon and on into the evening reading very very very old loafe entries, instead of being outside or with your family or cleaning or packing or any number of the things you need to be doing.
I do know this much: it’s embarrassing AND pleasing to read old christa. I won’t highlight any embarrassing loafes right now, because I’m in a pick-me-up mood, so here are some things I’ve found that were amusing/sweet/bittersweet/goofy/nostalgic/etc:
what matters is that I had a grand time. Rather uneventful, but perfectly so, if you know what I mean. the driving time was very long. fun and boring all at once. No real car trouble, but I did get all new tires at some gas station about three hours into the trip, and then on the way home some stupid piece of metal from some stupid dumb truck in front of us flew back and smashed my windshield. glass flew everywhere and got in my hair and blinded me and I swallowed some and it shred my esophagus and then it landed in my stomach, where it grew into a glass tree and I ended up having glass babies.
things that are annoying me right now:
–the stupid fucking birds singing out my stupid fucking window at stupid fucking MIDNIGHT, jesus fucking christ
-makeup (but makeup always annoys me)
-birds that sing very loudly outside your window when it’s the middle of the night
-blogs
-people who think they need to know my business but really don’t
-the number 14
-birds
-that there is no site at www.ihatebirds.com
Note to christa: learn just exactly what a “budget” is.
things I find sexy on men:
-wrists
-feet
-hands
-shaved/bald heads or really short hair
-back of the neck
-adam’s apples
-jeans that rest on the hips
-boxer shorts
-clean fingernails
-goatees and stubble
-dark eyes
-dark hair
-glasses
-bruises, bumps and scrapes
Am I a bitch if I don’t like the blind girl in my class? I don’t like her BECAUSE she’s blind; there are other reasons. And I am not exactly sure if she’s one hundred percent blind. When she talks, her eyes dart around, never settling on anything, not like I’ve seen other blind people. And it seems like she can see a little bit. But what the fuck do I know. Anyway, she’s in my class and when she raises her hand to say something, I inwardly groan and sink lower in my seat, because I know that we’re in for a long-winded, pointless, boring and quite annoying diatribe. She never has anything useful to say, at least that I’ve been able to garner from her garbled and meandering words. She just drones on and on and her eyes are flicking all over the place and I want to shoot myself. And I wonder to myself if I am being too harsh, if I should cut her some slack because she’s blind. But fuck that. Just because she can’t see doesn’t mean that she automatically becomes wise and full of helpful information. Because she can’t see do I have to like her? I mean, god…she’s annoying as fuck. I don’t think her blindness has anything to do with it. I just wish she’d shut up.
my morning routine:
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-hit snooze
-turn off alarm
-go back to sleep
-wake up and look at time
-swear and curse
-drag myself into bathroom
-brush teeth
-leave house
-speed to work
it is amazing what things will take the backseat to a few extra minutes of sleep in the mornings. I’d sell crack to babies at that moment if it meant I could sleep for just two more minutes.
someone told me I was oversexed. this greatly disturbs me. I just can’t seem to win. I’m too much of this not enough of that, loud quiet honest a liar full of regret never look back up down nowhere everywhere. I’d like to sit this one out, or just for a little while, if I could.
man. tomorrow is my therapy app’t. I don’t wanna go. my old therapist meg who I just love even more now that she isn’t around, she was great. this new girl, she’s nice and all I guess, but she always says “so, how does that make you feeeeeeeel?” or “what does that mean to you, what do you think that means?” how the fuck am I supposed to know? she just sits there and stares at me and she has this weird smile on her lips and doesn’t say anything, she just looks and looks and I sit there fidgeting and finally I just start babbling on about something cause she’s making me so freaking nervous just smiling at me with that weird therapist “you’re such a fucking nut job” smile and I have no idea what i’m even saying, I’m not even talking about real stuff, I’m making it up, my mouth is moving and she’s nodding and STILL SMILING why are you smiling like that jesus christ yes I fucked him no i didn’t fuck him yes i’m a trashy whore yes i’m looking to be rescued yes i gave him a blow job you bet i swallowed i have serious issues i’m insane and what does it mean it means that I need just one goddamned good orgasm.
it is true though, I am looking to be rescued. I don’t think irish boys are the saving kind. they are the kind to keep pushing you and knocking you back down, cause all they want is just a little fun and hey, since you’re already down there, how about a blowjob? will you pretend? will you pretend that I’m beautiful and sweet and good, stroke my hair with a little bit of softness, my face with just the slightest touch of kindness? yes? you will? then of course I’ll suck you off. a girl like me–she has to take that little bit wherever and however she can get it.
I didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with jeff buckley even more, but I learned tonight that is indeed possible. I would become a necrophiliac for him. I would.
there is this sort of…prize package for best friend winner. I haven’t put it all together or anything, but someday soon. or not so soon. i can’t be bothered with this whole crazy TIME concept deal.
sometimes I wish I could take off body parts. like right now, my right leg is really bugging me, it feels all weird and annoying and stuff, and I want to take it off. Also, I wish I had interchangeable breasts. you know, an A-cup for exercise, a B-cup for day to day activities, and maybe a C-cup for a night out, a D-cup for car repair estimates, double-d cups when we visit celeste so we don’t feel so left out, maybe some e-cups for my porn star role-playing games. I think that’d be awful swell.
don’t you hate it when you’re drinking from a cup and the liquid is going down nice and smooth and everything’s fine and then all of a sudden you see something in the cup that isn’t supposed to be there but before you can react it’s already flowed its way into your mouth and then you’ve swallowed and now you have no idea what it was or where it came from and if it is safe to finish your beverage or if you should just dump it all out?
also loafe is not a blog. loafe hates blogs. so don’t call loafe a blog. she gets so upset and I have to spend all night comforting her.
it’s okay because he knows the way I look at him and he can feel it, he can feel me, and I’m white hot, he can’t get enough, he always wants to be inside and I’m wrapped around him so tight and he goes deeper pushing away at the past setting fire raining fire, we’re motion and light and still he goes deeper he’s pushing I’m moaning we’re burning we’re whispering we’re loving we’re coming and everything is lost and everything is bright and nothing matters nothing matters but us.
I bet all this is just waiting for me around the corner. I better make sure to wear my smartest shoes.
(obviously, I spend way too much time alone)
oooh, I talked to a cute, sexy canadian today. no it wasn’t nick (although he is a very sexy and cute canadian). It was this speaker from work. I had to call to find out information about him and he had a sexy canadian accent and when he said my name, I peed my pants and then died.
I had a dream last night that I was pregnant, like four months pregnant, and I was very happy about it, insanely happy and I had this crazy sense of contentment. and in the dream I was touching my stomach and I said “it feels like I have a hard shell in here” and that was it. The odd part of this dream? there didn’t seem to be a man involved in any way. and it wasn’t an issue either, it never even came up. hmm. interesting. I wonder if this is the handiwork of my biological clock. I hate that damn clock.
I need a new car. a car that likes snow, drinks socially, appreciates good literature and never ever needs gas.
when I came home tonight, my kitties were all in a flurry. they were running around and trying to distract me and keep me from coming upstairs. when I got upstairs I found out why. There was wrapping paper and bows and ribbons everywhere. apparently kitties were wrapping presents. there was a big present all wrapped and it said “to the bestest mommy in the whole world” and I was ready to cry. they weren’t expecting me home so early. I can’t wait for christmas morning to open it up and see what it is! those crazy kitties.
soooooo. another year. yep. bye bye 2000, thanks for the flying cars and all the robots!
i just spent the last half hour reading every page from my 365-day quotable simpsons 2001 calendar. It was a really funny half hour. Friday, May 11, Mr Burns: “Does anyone have change for a button?”
Thursday, July 19th:
carl: “hey, I heard we were going to Ape Island.”
lenny: “yeah. to capture a giant ape. I wish were were going to candy apple island.”
some guy: “candy apple island? what do they got there?”
carl: “apes. but they’re not so big.”
Wednesday, January 10, 2001:
Homer Simpson: “Oh, I’m sick of doin’ Japanese stuff! In jail, we had to be in this dumb Kabuki play about the forty-seven Ronin, and I wanted to be Yoshi, but they made me Ori.”
Not having a TV is killing me. I’m thinking of putting a personal ad in the paper: “lonely girl looking for large, color TV set for long romantic nights. cable required, VCR a major plus. your place or mine.”
in philosophy class, we’re reading rene descartes, this big heavy philosophy guy. and at one point in his meditation thing, he says that insane people think “they have heads made of clay, or that they are gourds or that they are made of glass”. isn’t that swell? I wish I lived where in a place where I thought my head was clay or I was a gourd or I was made of glass. that’s the kind of insane I want to be, because that’s just cool. you can say “my head is made of clay” and I just want that. or you think “i’m glass, I better not fall”.
but I’m gonna go crazy you know. there are soooooo many cute boys. i want to just scream. everywhere! each one cuter than the last. so young, so innocent, so fresh. I want to corrupt. there’s this one boy who lookes just like jeff buckley. he’s in zero of my classes, but I’ve seen him, saw him last year and he’s just completely beautiful. it hurts to look at him and i know he’s not jeff buckley and he doesn’t have the qualities I love so much about jeff, but he LOOKS like jeff and therefore he is just as sensitive and troubled and sexy and sweet and vulnerable as jeff buckley was and I can pretend it’s jeff and so when I’m having sex with him it will actually be jeff buckley I am having sex with.
walking to work after school on Monday, I stopped in Subway to buy myself a good old subway sandwich. so I get my sandwich and I get a drink and I get a bag of chips. it’s cold outside and my hands are cold and I didn’t have any gloves and I wanted to pull my hands up inside my jacket. I took the subway bag and tied it to my bookbag and stuck the soda in the crook of my arm and pulled my hands into the sleeves of my jacket. I was very very hungry. the whole walk to work (it’s about 20 mins) all I was thinking about was my sandwich, how good it would taste and how I would eat it and not be hungry and there’d be lots of pickles. so I finally get to work and after settling in, I go to get my sandwich and it was gone! it must have dropped somewhere. now, I was not ready to give that sandwich up, so I pulled on my jacket and went to look around and see if I could find it. I backtracked and came to a street, where in the middle my smashed subway sandwich was found. it was so sad. there it was, smashed all over the place, poor little sandwich, ruined, not in my tummy. I wanted to cry.
Wednesday February 7th:
Bart: Santa’s Little Helper? Guess I was the only one who loved him.
Milhouse: You got that right. Remember the time he ate my goldfish? and you lied and said I never had any goldfish? Then why did I have the bowl, Bart? Why did I have the bowl?
but now that I’m here, I can’t remember what it was. let’s see…I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I like to say the same thing fifty times. but three times is ideal.