Welcome To My Bed

Pomp (& circumstance).

I can't sleep. I haven't had to say that aloud in a long time.

So I started thinking about my hair again. It's been an obsession lately (and always). I've dyed it twice in the past two weeks, once lighter, once darker. I am satisfied with the color now, but the length is driving me nuts. Having an inch and a half of hair is difficult. With my styling options close to zero, it seems my collection of hats is growing exponentially. Not because I want to cover my hair by any means, but because I just want something interesting to be happening on my head. Oh, how I rue the day that I shaved off my mohawk! Well, not really. I've quite enjoyed this crop. But I am ready for some different extreme. These two ladies and their fabulous coifs have been spinning through my head as of late:


Now, Rihanna is someone that can essentially do no wrong by me. Argue her talent all you want; I'm not going to tell you what opinion to have as far as pop music goes. But for the past few years, basically ever since she cut it short, her hair has been fierce as a tiger let lose on Las Vegas. If I could have even half the pompadour she's rocking at the right of that pair of pictures, I would be beyond pleased with myself.


If you have not heard of Janelle Monae, you have been living under a boulder of epic un-coolness. This woman can sing and dance like I have not seen in years, not to mention carry a sci-fi story of Frank Herbert-proportions on her shoulders rocking wing-tips and the freshest white shirts. I love me some Gaga, but I have half a mind to smack the entertainment industry hard in the mouth for being so moony-eyed over that New York love child of Madonna and Marilyn Manson when Janelle is leaps and bounds beyond. If we wanted to have a no-holds-barred battle between high-concept pop divas, I know Monae would win, hands down. That being said, her hair, while defying all gravity, has absolutely captured my heart.

I suppose what all of this means is that I'm currently sitting at my kitchen table in the dark, meditating on ways to make my hair grow faster. After dinner tonight, I had a brief modeling session where I showed my roommate Jericha this fantastic vintage dress I picked up mid-July. In talking about how to style it, I went off on a tangent about the plans for my future hair. She told me I was only allowed to dress pin-up if my hair got larger than life. I am inclined to agree. There is nothing that makes me happier than the idea of winged eyeliner, sky-high pumps, and even higher hair.

Except maybe this last picture:


In other, perhaps more important, news, the website for my winter tour is up and running. I have been smiling too much and doing impromptu happy dances in the crosswalk on my way to work because of it. It was designed by the badd-ass and talented William James, a man I admire for many reasons, the least of which is that his typewriter collection rivals his pearl snap shirt collection. RESPECT!

If you're in the New York area this weekend, you should come out to the inaugural tour date, my show at Sarah Lawrence's Teahaus, sponsored by their Spoken Word Collective. I will have limited edition books and lots of words and hugs and dance magic to share. Word on the street is there's going to be an epic after-party, as it's their first feature of the semester. I am honored, and absolutely beyond excited to rock New York hard. Details here. I'd love to see your smiling face in the audience!

Last, and perhaps most importantly, today is my sister's twenty-fifth birthday. Well, more like yesterday at this advanced stage of morning. I am sending her a unicorn for good luck in the coming year, her silver anniversary of living. What a wonderful lady!


Here we are at the Flying Rhino last fall, our favorite restaurant in Worcester. I can't wait resume our tradition of monthly dinners, this time with wine.


Did I mention it's now nine days until my 21st birthday?! SHA-ZAMMM.

Ok. I really need to go to bed now...

Stomaching my family.

1. The other day I drove into New York with Owen and my family friend Missa who is visiting from Seattle to hit up a weekly Sunday flea market on the Upper West Side. In spite of an interminable quest to locate parking (I should have known!), we had a fantastic time in the brisk but still unseasonably warm weather. I walked around all day, even after the sun started sneaking off, without a jacket. I have spent most of my time lately cocooned in ridiculous giant scarves, and it was wonderful to have them see the sun for once instead of being dwarved by the fur hood of my coat. Highlights from the blacktop shopping include a bracelet made entirely of little heads (see below, among my other daily jangles), more fur coats than I've ever seen in once place in my life, and skipping through the crosswalks with my brother. It was my first time taking him to New York without my parents, and I hope that it becomes a regular occurence, because we had an absolute blast. He's growing into a miniature adult.


Also, there were these adorable felted slippers that were cats you put your feet in!


2. I don't have a bedroom at my parents' house anymore (it's a long and complicated explanation, so I'll spare you), so when I visit, I stay in the attic with my sisters. It functions a lot like the dormitory in the Madeline books--twin beds all lined up and lights out by a specific time and long talks before we all eventually fall asleep. Most of the time it's delightful--I don't get to spend much time with both my sisters at once except when we're home for the holidays--but this particular break they've both been snoring up a storm. It must be how dry the heater makes the air or something. Anyway, we have cuddle piles that look like this:


3. This year is one I'm going to treasure always as the time when I found my way back to my family without begrudging them their lack of understanding--I really am an odd duck, and to expect them to always know how to deal with that is asking too much. Since swallowing my pride several months ago, we've all gotten along so much better. I think it's a sign from the universe that we no longer get into crazy arguments at the dinner table--of what, I can't really be sure. But finally, FINALLY, coming home has shifted from a stressful activity to one that I actively look forward to and somehow manage to enjoy, even when there are hiccups.

Everybody's Girl: The Gaga Bibliography

if that isn't a Bowie reference, then what is?

When bored, I often troll the internet for information about my favorite ladies of the moment, be they the girl-crushes of this past summer (when I had seemingly endless time to surf, ogle, and swoon at all my favorites) or the poets I have spent the past four months resuscitating and re-imagining for Spindle. Today, as fruit of this labor, I bring you my Lady Gaga bibliography, compiled over several weeks of active gleaning and countless more of idle internet-wandering.

1. For the style hounds:

My friend Mara pointed me in the direction of this photo gallery--a year of Gaga outfits to observe, love, and if you are daring, integrate into your style inspiration boards for 2010. There is no questioning the power of this woman as a fashion icon (see White Lightning's crafternoons for representative evidence of DIY attempts), and she pursues the title with a nod to Warhol's silk screen assembly line and a bit of Mark Jacobs and Alexander McQueen, just for good measure.

2. For the make-up mavens:

Whether playing dress up with Cyndi Lauper for MAC's Viva Glam campaign or simply spitting in the face of make-up artists who remind us laypeople to never mix a bold eye with an equally bold lip, Gaga is probably best equipped to color outside the lines when it comes to cosmetology. Looking at her carefully crafted visage, I am tempted to wash my face with rhinestones every morning.

3. For the record collectors:

Though ineligible for Best New Artist at this year's Grammys (pshh, technicalities), no one can argue with the fact that Gaga has had a huge year in terms of record sales alone. 8 millions copies of The Fame sold? Check. Collectable version of The Fame: Monster replete with lock of hair and other completely ludicrous extras? Check. B-sides and remixes enough to compile a dance party playlist the likes of which most artists can only dream of? Just do a general Google search and you are inundated. Kid Cudi's already sampled a stripped down piano performance of Pokerface for his song "Make Her Say", and I'm sure that's only the beginning of such activities.

4. For the gossip queens:

It is safe to say that bloggers are absolutely obsessed with Gaga (ehem, Perez Hilton). And they are probably right to be--every time she leaves the house (typically sans pants) she looks bound for somewhere fabulous, or otherwise ends up doing something scandalous, and usually those two points of interest coincide, creating a meta-gossip-topic of epic proportions. Saucily refuting hermaphrodite rumors? Check. Treating the VMAs as a giant installation space? Check. Meeting the Queen? Check. Is there nothing she won't do?

5. And perhaps most importantly, for the feminists:

While reading her dailies in blog land, Sophia came across this gem on Jezebel, a brief feminist perspective on the Lady's shifting relationship to feminism--initially, she didn't want to call herself that, but it is clearly such a large part of what she does that it should not go unnamed. I've been wanting to write a serious (maybe even ACADEMIC) essay on this phenomenon but have yet to find the time to sit down and so. An artist whose entire life is an on-going cultivation of a persona is tough and tricky work, to say the least, and the endeavor walks a fine line between titillating and alienating (see her thought on this tension here). Some people just cannot be bothered with the spectacle. However, the characters she creates for her music videos celebrate powerful women fighting back against the commodification of their bodies within pop culture--as a performance artist, for she is clearly interested in a lot more than just writing and recording pop songs, she questions the art form she actively participates in so that it may become a more positive space for women (and young girls) it so desperately needs to continue as an industry. I run the risk of getting effusive here, so I'll reign myself in to this final observation: comparisons to Madonna are more than apt (view their SNL face-off here, if you can wade through the field of Andy Samberg's punchlines delivered via lead balloon), because sexual awareness and freedom rank high on the list of issues LG addresses with her music and performance; the celebration of pop culture within a larger critical space is where the genius of both of these women lies.

So, is it art?? Amanda Palmer's got something to say about that. The second coming of Madonna? Madge herself has a few thoughts on that. Are we hearkening back to the heyday of glam rock a la David Bowie??! We should be so lucky.

Regardless of your answers to any of the above questions, she is proving rather impossible to avoid or ignore at this point. Even my dad has opinions on her. It is clear she means something different to every person I've talked to, but what can be agreed upon is that, love her or hate her, she is never boring to watch.

Bed-headed fashionista.

Lying in my couch/bed, browsing through the Rodarte for Target look book (!!!), I have realized what I am going to wear to Christmas. And maybe every day for the next year. Especially to slams, if only for the visual pun. When Cassandra sees this, she is surely going to have a happy heart attack, as I did.


She's even wearing my boots! Why has no one else ever made a ribcage out of SEQUINS??!!

You can take the Jersey girl out of the mall...

1. After my final visit to the Cantab of 2009 and a brief layover in Boston, I am back in Providence. I drove directly to meet Kaitlin at work, where I fiddled around in my journal for a bit and talked to her students about the Bodies Revealed exhibit (I still haven't gone; maybe I'll stop at Foxwoods on my way to Jersey...). Post-Met (and crab rangoons, and chicken soup with lots of celery, and the obligatory Gaga sing-along), we went to the mall for some Christmas-type things and a quick browse through Nordstrom.

2. I have never been a huge proponent of high-end retailers. It cannot possibly cost what they charge for what they are selling you. And in spite of the questionable music choices and Twilight quotes frosted onto the dressing room mirrors (SERIOUSLY??!), Nordstrom somehow managed to pleasantly surprise me. Even if it was in the juniors department. And the surprises came in between me picking up various articles to remark on either their level of heinous or the fact that I could produce the same quality item by myself with my modest sewing machine and some fancy zippers. Clearly this realization calls for a fashion show, and since you could not be there, I bring you dressing room cellphone pictures:


This is my favorite of the bunch, and I may just have to go back to the mall tomorrow and buy it because I cannot for the life of me locate it on the website. Kait convinced me not to buy it A) because I am nearly too broke to function and need to be able to pay for gas to get back to Jersey next week, and B) because the top was slightly uneven. Now that I'm home from the store, I am second-guessing this decision. I may have to go back to the mall in the morning and buy it anyway, against my better judgment. And behold, my hair is red. And not under a hat. But this only happens while indoors, considering the literally-below-freezing temperatures currently besieging the Northeast.


Don't ask why Nordstrom is selling summer dresses in the dead of December. I have no explanation for you. Kait frowned at this one but also said, "That is totally you," a remark that roughly translates to, "I would never try that on in a million years, but you look great in it."


Is it wrong to want to stomp around in combat boots and party dresses at all times? Am I committing some terrible fashion crime by accessorizing every pantsless ensemble I attempt with tights that have holes the size of Nigeria? I hope not. I love both of those things supremely and above all other fashion-related things. Jade complimented my boots last night and I got giddy about it--I justified buying them by telling myself they would be for snow, but I have been wearing them almost relentlessly since August and silently hoping for them to segue into my wardrobe as a staple equally beloved by myself and the world at large; now I have conversational proof that at least one other person can sympathize.


And then there was this disaster. Key West couch fabric in slinky polyester--oh, someone restrain me-circa-2005. Thankfully I have semi-outgrown my adoration of hideous-upholstery-patterned dresses. There had to be one thumbs-down, and I picked this sucker up as a joke, so I'm glad it took the title.

3. Another highlight of our mall trip was an abundance of creepy dolls. Check it:


Kait recognized the second doll from the left--we definitely have her hiding in some dark attic crawlspace corner, waiting to fall out and scare an innocent bystander half to death. Why they have this terrifying picture framed in the Nordstrom dressing room is beyond me.


This otherwise visually awesome window display of cardboard cut-outs assembled collage-style around the actual merchandise contained a strange doll-like girl. She was waving in a way that made me feel guilty for not stopping into the store for a half-second. Like she thought I was walking past her only because I needed to buy her a lollipop from somewhere just across the way, and I'd be right back, absolute promise. I guess being a writer, it makes sense that inanimate objects instantly have backstory as soon as I look at them, but when cardboard little girls make me feel guilty, I might be edging into dangerous territory.

And an honorable mention for the mannequin with completely useless movable toes.

4. Cassandra and I, being the best (and I guess worst) roommates ever, just had a 45 minute phone conference lamenting that we are in different states for the second day running, a condition that will not subside until after the last calendar page drops. Unless New Year's in New York is actually going to happen, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed and my mouth shut about that business so as not to jinx it. At any rate, one of the topics of conversation was what our super powers would be if we were just super versions of ourselves. Basing these powers on facts (and stereotypes) from our home states, hers was super strength (because she is from New Hampshire, home to granite, among mountain-y things) and mine was being able to locate malls from any location. I argued that my shopping sense was too lame to be a primary power but couldn't come up with another desirable power based on Jersey besides being resistant to toxic waste. Maybe my super self was the victim of a HAZMAT incident, transforming her into...into...well, shit. I really am at a loss here. When we iron out the kinks, we're going to try to rope Sophia into participating in this project and then make a comic/zine together. Stay tuned for further adventures of the Lady Poets!

5. In closing, I saw a pair of acid green mini cowboy boots in the Nordstrom shoe department and nearly had an stroke. Not that I don't already have seven pairs of boots. And then walking past H&M, I saw they were having a 70% off sale on outwear and there was a fabulous faux fur coat that I am sure I would have left with if Kait hadn't dragged me kicking and screaming away from the store. And the gold sequin mini-skirt on the mannequin by the door.

But seriously. I think I may have a problem. Hi, my name is Emily and I am window-shop-a-holic? Do they have a group for that??

The boys wanna be her, the girls wanna be her.

Is it possible to OD on fabulous? I have watched this four times in rapid succession and cannot stop hitting play every time it is over.

Going to see her in January at MSG (if Ticketmaster would stop being petulant). My head might explode. Or I'll just run away and join her drag queen circus-- we'll live in a pool of diamonds and always sing along to the radio. Yes. Yes.

Keeping warm.


The South Hadley Salvation Army is rarely good to me, but today was definitely an exception. I am so ready for winters in Western Mass.

This week's activities have included scheming with my advisor, nearly winning a slam, starting my first poetry class, and settling into the apartment. Also, Peter and I baked a raspberry pie. I had a slice for breakfast this morning with a big cup of tea. It was an almost-perfect way to start the day.

Pause for ensuing shoe parade.


This is my there-are-five-days-left-to-move-out-of-this-apartment-panic face. Five days seems like a decent amount of time, but I have to work every single day Wednesday through Sunday and be out of here Sunday night. Where did the summer go? Was I not paying attention or something? This seems somehow unfair. There were so many things I wanted to do. I wasted so much time griping about the rain and now the excess of sun (that has given me the worst of work uniform tan lines); this must be punishment for that. Or something.

I've begun packing, and I have the attention span of a gnat soaked in Pop Rocks, so I decided to take a time out and admire all my fancy shoes, many of which were acquired this glorious summer.

brown leather Frye cowboy boots, Udelco, last summer; black suede ankle boots, Marshall's, last fall; blue suede cowboy boots, Beacon's Closet, summer '06; black stiletto Jessica Simpson ankle boots, TJ Maxx, today; black leather cowboy boots, Urban Renewals in Allston, July


Miss Me Mary Janes, Berk's on Thayer, July; brown suede Seychelles platforms, TJ Maxx, today; all-black spectator pumps, TJ Maxx, last summer; red patent peep toes, Nordstrom, spring '07; black patent Jessica Simpson stilettos, Cohoes, June; brown wedges, Old Navy, June

And now I have to cram all of them in a suitcase and get ready to make the drive back to Jersey where I will regroup and make moves for Amherst. I hate packing. It makes me panicky. It also makes me want to play dress up. This is going to be a long day.

Tough to be tender.

I struggle with boots. I own far too many pairs as it is, and my collection just keeps mushrooming. Brown leather cowboys, blue suede cowgirls, black 14 eye Docs, classic Minnetonka knee-highs and on and on. And I also struggle with what to wear them with, because I pretty much just want to wear them with everything always. Even if that were to make my sneakers jealous. Cos there's a small army of them, and mutiny could be dangerous. I tread a fine line. But, at least for the moment, I have found an answer to my question of how to not keep my boots confined to perennial skinny jean pairings.

Via Facehunter, behold the floaty mini-dress, roughed-up boot combo:



I think I am in love. I think that I found my answer to my mini-skirt dilemma, which is this: I always feel a little too dressed up when I wear mini skirts and heels, just because people my age are more of jeans and flip flops people. And my feet have not yet transitioned into adulthood (read: can't handle heels for extended periods without conspiring in the sneaker mutiny I mentioned earlier). Boots have always been my go-to in order to solve this problem. I get a little extra height and coverage while still showing my legs some love and looking/feeling great in what I'm wearing. My fall back plan for an on-the-town outfit this summer has been my brown cowboy boots, a black denim mini I bought at H&M back in May, mixed with whatever top I grab out of the closet. It has not failed me yet.

In thinking about fashion dilemmas, my haircut comes to mind. I am absolutely never satisfied in the moment, and then I end up looking back on past styles and getting nostalgic for whatever pixie or incarnation of bangs I was sporting at the time. For the time being, my plan is to grow my hair out (I know, I know, I say this every time my hair is short and then regret it again when it's long, but let me live!). From Yvan Rodic's visual diary, a little more inspiration:



I miss bangssss. I mean, what are the two hairstyles I got back and forth between really? Short and piecey/hovering above the shoulders with long bangs. There is no middle ground that satisfies me. Which makes these transitional periods hellish.

But now that I have my homework, I'm going to out and learn how to be a fashionable misfit. And maybe even a patient one. Although most likely not.

Ticking off some check-boxes.

As my summer lover affair with Providence is winding down, I'm trying to get in all the little bits and pieces I've been dying to include since I arrived her back in May. Over the past few days, I've crossed a few things off my to-do list.

Wednesday night I let myself do a little exploring before Writers in the Round at Tazza. Walking around downtown aimlessly with no real destination was something I haven't let myself do nearly enough in my months here. And I got to see this -


Now, Federal Hill is always incredibly striking, but the pink sky made me smile so much, like raspberry lemonade on a dusky porch or something equally as wonderful and worthy of swizzle sticks.

I've also been reading a ton more than I was even a few weeks ago, probably because I've gotten into the groove of things. Just before I have to leave of course, but I guess I'm glad it happened at all. Current reading list:


Lit Riffs edited by Matthew Miele; The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks; Black Book Magazine's rebel issue (starring Evam Rachel Wood and Juliette Lewis); Infinity Blues by Ryan Adams; and Metro Pop Magazine. Not pictured (but almost always in my purse) are the latest issue of Nylon, Dave Eggers' How We Are Hungry, and Hampshire Slam Collective Fishes For Satellites. Black Book has one of the best fashion editorials I've seen in forever. It made me regret all of my high school prom dresses instantly and wish I had been just slightly more obsessed with Grease as an adolescent.



Metro Pop also had a great greaser-inspired spread that made me proud to have short hair. It also made me want to go out and buy a motorcycle, but the feeling has since passed.


But the one rebel impulse that I am powerless against is the compulsion to get tattooed. I've been itching for one all summer and kept making excuses, but today was completely free and Providence Tattoo on College Hill apparently takes walk-ins (and has the best collection of traditional-inspired flash I've seen yet). So I am now freshly inked and very happy.


82 is my house number in New Jersey, and since moving away, I've learned it's possible for me to feel at home wherever I am. Providence is home now, but I've had glimpses of home at Hampshire and on my visits to Allston (I figure those can be attributed to the poets, but who knows). The tattoo is a symbol of that new level of comfort. And it was test drive for the parlor, because I'm in the market for an artist for when I move here next spring. Judging by the bedside manner and the impressive portfolios at Providence Tattoo, I'm fairly certain I've found the place I'll be getting my graduation present to myself come next May.

And now it's time to go pick up some tortilla chips for the leftover bean dip I brewed up as part of a culinary adventure I had yesterday afternoon.

Needed: shears and Shannyn.


My bangs are getting out of control right now. One of the bartenders at work was making fun of me for my entire shift yesterday because of how serious they are. They were attempting to devour my sunglasses. There was finch hopping around the deck that was missing its flight feathers, and he said that we should just glue some of my bangs onto its wing so it could make its way home. I later put on a headband and pushed my bangs back for the night because they were bothering me so much. I am restless. I'm not sure whether I should give myself a haircut or just stay the course to growing my hair out. I'm thinking I'll give myself a haircut. I guess I'm such a sucker for change.

Probably something along these lines -


My eternal icon when I have scissors in hand. Wish me luck!

And we're golden...


Kait and I went outlet shopping this afternoon, and though I acquired several very exciting things for my increasingly more fabulous/refined wardrobe (it is my new goal to only leave the house dressed like I have a very important, very romantic date at all times, even if it is only a date with the world in general), this bugger is by far the biggest deal. Yellow leather seems a little glam, but then I did buy a gold wallet to go with it, so who am I to judge such things? Either way, I am thoroughly in love. A full run down of recent fashion-type purchases in days to come.

Adventures in red lipstick, among other things.


This is my bathroom, and also my morning face. Thankfully I have not yet left the house. But in all seriousness, I am very excited about wearing bold lipstick. I might make it a regular thing. I have to keep giving myself reasons to be excited about getting out of bed in the morning (I guess that's what the rest of the world calls "being single"), and this is a small one, but a fun one.

Tearing myself out of bed this morning was particularly difficult because of some South County escapades that kept me out much later than I wanted to be out. I didn't get to sleep until almost four in the morning because of them, and I'm only up right now because I was supposed to have work. But because Narragansett loves rain, I am sitting on my couch typing to you all. So here's the skinny: lately I've been designated driving fairly frequently. It's a title I don't mind, nor do I take it lightly. Most of it is as a favor to my sister. She lets me live in this apartment as what we like to refer to as "her ward"- she feeds me, she frequently pays for me to do my laundry, she supports my survival needs without asking for anything in return. So the way I figure it, I can at least drive her home from the bar every once in awhile. Last night, this spirit of reciprocity got me ludicrously lost in Gansett driving around with my friend Brian from the kitchen at work trying to locate George's, which is a bar literally next to the Block Island Ferry. We must've driven around for forty-five minutes because neither of us know the area at all and the only point of reference we could be sure of was the Mobile near the rotary off of Route 4. When we finally stopped to ask for directions and eventually found our way, we came upon my sister - almost an hour after closing time - lying on the sidewalk with one of the cooks. She was not pleased with me. I couldn't help thinking that it was perhaps a good idea to look into buying a GPS of some sort.

When all was said and done, I arrived home completely exhausted after dropping many people off at various locations and took a Benadryl, because (to add to ridiculosity that is my life) I am currently recovering from a case of hives brought on by the lobster roll I had for my shift meal when I worked a double on Sunday. I had never been allergic before, but I guess such afflictions can strike at any time. Maybe it's karma for ordering the most expensive sandwich on the menu and getting to eat for free. In any event, I am still itchy two days later, and it probably wasn't worth all the trouble. The wild goose chase that was my evening has left me feeling like I washed up onto a beach at low tide, but there is now way I'd be able to get back to sleep after showering and getting ready for the day already. Especially when I've already got lipstick on, even if the only beings that will see it for the bulk of the day are my cats. I feel that it's best to keep up appearances in the face of mental cloudiness, and I am sticking to my guns on that one.

New Jersey is excessive.

Besides finding that fabulous cruise portrait of my grandparents while visiting the homestead, I got a lot of important things accomplished while I was in New Jersey. First off, I was able to assess the recent freak tornado damage firsthand.


It doesn't look like much from the street, but most of the gutters are askew and a good deal of shingling has been torn from the roof as the result of a rogue falling tree. The living room ceiling is actually cracked from the force of the falling branches, something that unnerved me quite a bit, and I wasn't even around when it happened. I guess natural disasters and the effect they have on their victims got stuck in my head (along with a lot of chain saw buzzing from around the neighbor), because I ended up writing a poem using them as a motif for the different ways people devastate you without realizing it. Sometimes just one smile could knock a house down, although more often than not, it just sidelines me from intelligent conversation or any kind of coherent attempts at judging a situation for what it is. But I digress.

The main reason I made the trip was not assess damages, but rather to reclaim my beloved Oldsmobile Wendeline from the possession of my little sister. To celebrate the occasion, I resurrected a set of Valentine's Day-themed fuzzy dice I've had lying around probably since middle school (I did not then and do not now have any understanding of why I buy the things that I buy, but sometimes these odd impulse purchases come in handy) and hung them from the rear-view mirror.


The reason I was able to reclaim Wendy was because my little sister just bought herself her first real car. It's a Saturn, but she got it from a GM dealership and while she was signing the papers with my mother, I got to sit and ogle Corvettes.


All the while, I couldn't help thinking that older model Corvettes were much more attractive cars.

Perhaps the most exciting (or useless, depending on your perspective) thing I did while in Jersey was go to a mall I haven't been two in over a year under the pretense of taking my brother sneaker shopping. He only likes slip-ons and my mother invariably buys him weird dorky shoes from L.L. Bean that have bungee cords or look like they were manufactured for the kinds of people who only look like they're having fun in catalog-land. So I bought him a pair of Vans that happened to have skulls on them, which precipitated a ludicrous argument with my mother and grandmother (not the one in the picture previously posted) about how I was encouraging him to don "symbols of the occult". Right. Anyway, while on this mall visit, I finally got myself a new watch to replace the Target watch that broke at the beginning of the summer. In honor of this new watch, I decided to pull out my box of costume jewelry (most of which was purchased at various thrift stores, antique shops, and gem shows throughout my high school career) and color coordinated all of my wristwear.


The pink mother of pearl is one of my daily bracelets, but the rest were stacked on simply for the joy of being heavily accessorized. I used to be one of those hundred rubber bracelet kids (come to think of it, I had a skull cuff I wore all through middle and high school that my mother and Gram frowned upon heavily back in the day), a phase that was analogous to my love of Power Beads and my collection of large plastic bangles, so I guess it makes sense that I feel the need to pile on bracelets again every once in awhile. A watch has been a mainstay in my life, and I guess I just get scared that it will be lonely, or that my wrists are in some way strange if not encumbered by various points of interest. I'm probably just overly-obsessed with jewelry, judging by the cookie tins of necklaces, fingers full of rings, and various extra holes in my head. Everyone from Jersey has their own particular brand of excess - I'm just glad mine does not involve hairspray.

Return of the self.


I finally got the haircut I have been jonesing for since January at least (but most likely a lot longer). And I have realized that long hair is so clearly not ever for me. I walked in to Cass and Sophia's living room to give them back a chapbook I had borrowed and they were both commented on how I look so much more like myself now. I feel more myself now.

April gave me a book yesterday called All About Love by bell hooks, and I cannot put it down. She said she knew that I needed it, and she was definitely right. I can tell we are going to be great friends, both because of this and many other reasons from the past few days. The book is making me feel a lot better in addition to making me reexamine a lot of things. Thus far, I highly recommend it.

This week started out pretty poorly in terms of my emotional stability, but I it is steadily getting better. I just need to batten down the hatches, finish my work in a timely manner, and move to Providence (relatively) seamlessly, and I will be able to breathe properly again.

Wishful haircut.


Every time I get comfortable with the schlub of all hairstyles (AKA the side-swept bang), I must force myself to remember that short bangs are so much more bad ass. Bettie clearly knows best.

Ticking time bombs.


This is my face just before assuming a look of absolute panic at the speed with which the end of the semester is approaching. Next week I'll have final classes, the following week I'll be scrambling to finish up final papers and hand in portfolios. Thank god we don't have any such thing as exams.

I am in the middle of pulling together a preliminary portfolio for my Div 2, finishing my contribution to a group presentation, lotterying for housing ( don't even ask, it make no sense even to those of us who must participate), writing/editing all the creative pieces I need done for the end of the semester. And also, there's this thing about trying out for the NPS team that's happening this Tuesday and next. Check out the info here, and if you're on campus or at least in the area with nothing to do, I highly recommend checking it out. And not just because I'm competing. There is going to be some truly crazy magical awesomeness going down on that mic, and if you miss it, it's gone. I wouldn't want you to have to go through that overwhelming sense of loss.

Anyway, I have my pimp hat on, and hopefully that will allow me to accomplish everything on my to do list not only competently, but with an added swagger, just so that it looks easy (or at least enjoyable) to the general public. In the worst case scenario, I may not be in touch until after this madness has subsided. So, in preparation, enjoy spring fever. It only comes once a year.

Style Signatures

Reading on of my dailies, and now I'm tempted to post my own list of Style Signatures. However, I have to nip out to the library momentarily for work and have a few social calls to make after several hours at the reference desk. So it will have to wait. But in the meantime, enjoy Nubby's list.

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Could have been my secret weapon...


Competition spandex! Chrissie (my little sister) wears these for pole vaulting. I need to get me some. Next slam I do, I wear these babies and there will be tens. Of this I am sure.