tsi'b kolonton

Today I am being paid to research elementary school activists and plan a curriculum around getting kids to take social action- the culmination of which will be a program wide mobilization for more funding for after school programing and less policing in our community.

Later in the day a dear friend of mine is coming to the program to teach my kids about locally grown food and teach us about the politics of why all the carrots we see in the store are orange.

damn. I love my life.

Saturday morning. For useless brainless activities. (and because I'm waiting for my brunch date to get to the Neptune from Brooklyn.) (which is true Friendship)

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie

Opening Credits:
Instant pleasure- Rufus Wainwright. (oh. dear)

Waking up:
Sadness Creeps- Of Montreal

First Day at High School:
Young and Beautiful- Martin Sexton

Falling In Love:
Ribbon in th Sky - Stevie wonder

Fight Song:
Gumboots- Paul Simon

Breaking Up:
King of Pain- The Police

Prom:
Universal Traveler- Air

Life:
Checking my Pulse- Alix Olsen (I like where it fell on Becca's better)

Mental Breakdown:
Fuck the Police- Rage Against the Machine.

Driving:
If you Wanna Wear a Hat- Apples in Stereo (excellent driving song I think)

Flashback:
Because- The Beatles

Getting Back Together:
Walk on me- Ben Kweller

Wedding:
Catch my Disease- Ben Lee (explain that to the inlaws....)

Birth of Child:
Blame it on the Tetons- Modest Mouse

Final Battle:
A lover Sings- Billy Bragg

Death Scene:
Piece of my Heart as covered by....The HANSON brothers. (Excellent)

Funeral Song:
Free Until they Get me Down- Iron and Wine. (nice)

End Credits:
Sweet Adeline- Elliott Smith. (because,as we all know the movie of my life is just Good Will Hunting)

How is it possible in a borough of one million people to run into one ex, and one friend/ possible drug enabler of another ex in the same night, but rarely ever bump into my cute neighbor who lives upstairs?

sometimes I am such a chick lit cliche that I want to throw up all over myself. I have not ever aspired, and never plan to aspire to be Carrie Bradshaw.

Instead I pour myself a glass of whiskey (neat), and try to find a wireless connection on my stoop.

Success!

In other news, I LOVE my new job.

YES!

My parents had to put Cassie to sleep this weekend. I was home for a bit to see my grandmother, and I left for two days to meet up with some friends on Nantucket and when I came back they had put her to sleep.
She had a stroke and couldn't stand up anymore. Her legs stopped working. My parents slept with her downstairs so she wouldn't be scared, and they brought her to the vet the next morning.
The vet came to the car and did it right there so wouldn't know what was happening. Our vet has known her since she was a puppy cried when she came out. She was gone when I came home.
Feels weird to be so upset, but Cassie was a really wonderful dog, and a real friend in that amazing way that dogs just are. The next dog my parents get will be their dog- wont know me or grow up with me around, and that is weird too.

Cassie loved carrots, lacrosse balls, and chocolate ice cream, and her facial expressions were just like The Rock's in "The Scorpion King"

sigh.

one bad thing about putting so much faith in friendship is that sometimes other people don't feel the same way.
Lately I've been advocating a pretty open heart policy in regards to relationships, I don't know how any of us would get by in this city without that unconditional love, but tonight makes me reconsider.

I feel like in the end it's always just going to be me, standing alone in some corner trying to put the pieces back together, and maybe I'll always be searching for someone to give me the glue, because truly, I don't know how anyone could keep a heart together without some help


but then, how many times do you think a heart can break before you give up on it?








"I got something in me that keeps me on the go
It keeps me going going, keeps me gone
And I got something in me that keeps me on an unfamiliar street
Running up to strangers, tugging at their coat and saying
Won't you break this heart for me
Don't you leave it here smooth and shiny filling up my throat
Won't you just make a little crack for me
So maybe something could get in
Or something could get out
If something could get in maybe something could get out

I guess we're all the same, we walk our days looking for a little more fire
And we all sometimes have to sit on our hands
We try to hold ourselves together
We try to talk about the weather
When all we really want to do is take each other by the throat and say
Won't you dream my dream with me
Don't you leave it here drying on my pillow
Won't you just soak a little up for me
Won't you give it just a safe place to go
It just needs a little safe place to go"

"Becca: No! You know what you are doing? You are turning your hoo-ha into an old person's refrigerator. Think about it, yogurt and vinegar. An old person fridge."

In other news: Squirel alert.

Also, the prettiest girl from school goes to my gym. It is demeaning enough to go to the gym and feel like a hamster on a wheel. The thing I like about my gym is that no one else I know goes there. Because it is in queens! That is, until beautiful, and genuinely nice Kathleen from school comes and spoils my anonymity and makes me feel like a sputtering, flabby, redfaced poser. Which I am. except before there were no witnesses. I guess it means you are actually becoming a part of the neighborhood when you start running into people you know. Immediately following the gym debacle I nearly crashed into neighbor John at the grocery store, my arms brimming with three different types of soy product. Still redfaced from the gym, my hair a matted sweaty mess wearing sweatpants pants I bought in mexico that say sexxxy on the ass and cost 1 peso. I sputtered "Look at all the soy products I find myself buying!" and then he walked away confused.

Ah well, good thing I don't have a crush on neighbor John. (that was not, by the way, a thinly veiled concealment of a crush on neighbor. He is quite a nice and handsome fellow, but I do not indeed have a "crush" on him as of yet)
and finally, another reason I'm glad I live with becca:

"I prefer jantorix. sounds more like a dom."

I have an apartment and apartment an apartment. dancey dancey dancey dance dance. astoria. ditmars and 42 ave. awesome mcawesomeness.

more on this subject later.

Did I ever mention that I learned a little tsotzil, one of the indigenous languages of chiapas, back when I was in Mexico? Right, well I did. And my favorite word that I learned was kolonton, which means heart. but you can add all kinds of modifiers to it, which make it mean different things. If you add the word "ts'ib" to it, it means lots of things

a)my heart is writing
b)my heart is a warrior

i.e. my heart will kick your ass, With words.

I'm still so hurt I want to throw up. Am now pretty positive he did it on purpose to hurt me, and I know if I can still be hurt like this, and he is willing to throw the punches to do it, that I can't ever see him again. I forgot he had this in him, forgot that for all his talk he gets this horrible when he doesn't know what else to do. I had promised to make this so drama free, to make sure I wasn't playing games, and to be a bigger person than I was the last time I went through this. I forgot that he might not feel the same. And I forgot how hard this whole thing is. I'm tired of hearing myself talk about this, tired of thinking about it, tired of the tight knot in the pit of my stomach that reminds me that loving people as much as I do makes it hurt more. I never expect the people I love to hurt me, because I believe the most revolutionary thing you can do is treat the people you love with respect and dignity. I want to believe that if we all do, then we wont need to hurt each other. I should know better, I'm too much of a cynic to be such a godamn hippie at heart.

I don't want to be loved until I remember the feeling of walking around and believing that everyone in this whole wide world could love me forever and all I would have to do is love them back.

To find that again I need space of my own, I need some trees and I need work that I love. Even if I dont get paid for it. I think I need Brooklyn. I feel for the first time that I don't have to jump into someone else's arms, that to do the next one right I'm going to have to do it on my own first. and so, in the immortal words of one Alanis Morrisette "You live, you learn...."
or, lets say to be a little classier, in the words of Regina Spektor, "all of my friends say it's gonna get better, better better better better better better"

I am resisting the urge to make this even more like high school by sending song lyrics. Avoiding it by posting them here for my own relief. This song bizzarely sums up the entire relationship from start to finish. And yes, it was on the O.C. soundtrack, and yes, you could probably tell if you heard it.

blow me.


God that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said 'yes I think we've met before'
In that instant it started to pour,
Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across point champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name…

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in
Now you're outside me
You see all the beauty
Repent all your sin

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose
I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose
I'll write you a postcard
I'll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love…

Live through this, and you won't look back…
Live through this, and you won't look back…
Live through this, and you won't look back…

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you
I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to say

I'm not sorry there's nothing to say...

Having a very Mary Tyler Moore kind of day.
Despite my life being the stuff chick lit novels are made of (missing insoles, late trains, over use of febreeze, harrowing job interviews, sucky ex boyfriends and backstabbing friends) I have a distinct feeling that I'm about to emerge from this in a semi glowy, triumphant, Aretha Franklin I will survive karaoke kind of way.

exhibit a: Yoga.
Exhibit b: cake
exhibit c: babysitting job in the bag
exhibit d: almost definite slave wage job at chickpea falafel because i'm cute and israeli.

I forgot how good it feels to get over a broken heart by pulling your shit together and rising above. It doesn't hurt that I have the most incredible friends in the entire world (minus one misguided, drunken, self loathing lunatic)
This is a general procalmatory thank for being brought four types of cake, strawberries, and the new regina spektor, to fiona apple singalongs and dilpidated games of cranium. Also to cellphones, pillows you can beat up, righteous indignance, kelly carkson songs, Newsies, hugs, and the fact that if you fuck with me I will destroy you, and then get on with my life in a most productive and self affirming kind of way.

This was the best thing he could possibly have done, it is exactly the kick in the pants I needed to realize how much I should not be with him. . Well done good sir. Well done indeed.

Q: You know what pisses me off?
A: A lot of things.

Q: You know what is pissing me off right now?
A: Paternalism.

(also lots of other things, but right now those guys throwing around footballs and yelling, my asshole he-man brother, and men who grab my breasts in the street get a special mention.)

FUUUUUUUUUCK.

Hey, good news guys. My worries are over.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/usatoday/20060517/ts_usatoday/collegegradsbackindemand

My mother pointed out this evening that amoebas reproduce by splitting, not sex. Which is good because it means no illicit sexual activity is taking place within my intestines, which means I remain pure in the eyes of Jesus. Just as long as I get a hold on illicit sexual activity outside of my intestines, I'm good as gold.

so far, no problem there. Thanks amoeba friends!

unrelated:

no friggin way! what were they thinking??? Jesus loves you Steven Colbert, illicit intestinal sexual activity or not.

http://www.dailymotion.com/sensemilia/video/143459

Friends, this is the kind of news that live journal updates were made for.

get ready....

Sometime during my short stay in Mexico City I was fortunate enough to have contracted .......AMOEBIC DYSTENTERY!

Yes friends, that means that I am (in the words of my doctor) "chock full of amoebas"
But, more importantly, it means that I get to run around telling people that I have AMOEBIC DYSENTERY, and honestly, who hasn't dreamt of doing that?

Don't worry though, it isn't contagious unless you have direct contact with my feces, so no worries. Except, well, I wont name names, but you know who you are (*coughGeorgeClooneycough*)

Becca and I will be spending the evening naming them after famous celebrity children, so get ready to meet, among others, tiny single celled Maddox and Zahara Jolie Pitt!

ohmygod. I am like IN the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, like, right now.

My blue room is red and not mine anymore, but all my books are on shelves in my new not blue room. I confiscated all the ducks. It was time. It turns out that in my before life I had like, a million pairs of underwear, which is infinitely better than 7.

But when my mom moved my room I wonder what she thought of things like the drawer full of condom wrappers, or the illicit object that is no longer in the bag where I am sure it used to be? These are things to ponder. Also, where is aformentioned illicit object if not in presumed bag?

These are mysteries to figure out later. For now I have to unravel the mystery of sleep, and how to do it, and also the mystery of how no time seems to pass, even if you have gone away for 7 months and been all alone in a foreign country. and you come home and everything feels the same. which is weird when you have been so different for so long.

As of now I still have no cell phone (and i wont lie, I am excited about getting one again, even though it was totally nice not having one for over half a year) Anyway, I can be called on my house phone, and if you have any business calling me you probably have the number, or know someone who does.

Tomorrow I jump right into the thick of things with immigrant protesting- let no one say I wasted my time getting back into the swing of things.

right. so. thats the news. what do you think?

Hey. Guess what?
I am coming home in less than a month!

yeah. true story. I go home to Providence on April 9th.
What happens after that?
The possibilities include:
staying in providence until I find a job somewhere and playing with Emily and Sydneys improv group
going to New york and living off the land (i.e staying rent free on peoples couches)
the end result will probably be some combination of the two
um. anyone got any job leads?

also:
Yo, como tú ,
amo el amor, la vida, el dulce encanto
de las cosas, el paisaje
celeste do los días de enero.

Tambíen mi sangre bulle
y río por los ojos
que han conocido el brote de las lágrimas.

Creo que el mundo es bello,
que la poesía es como pan, de todos.

Y que mis venas no terminan en mí
sino en la sangre unánime
de los que luchan por la vida,
el amor,
las cosas,
el paisaje y el pan,
la poesía de todos.

Like you I
love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky-blue
landscape of January days.

And my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.

I believe the world is beautiful
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.

And that my veins don't end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
love,
little things,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.

At what age does ones life cease to be reminiscent of an ani difranco song?
When will it stop being necessary to write about things like this on a freaking internet journal?
And when will I ever learn? Or rather, why do I insist on dating the same guy, with the same bullshit issues over and over and over again and be surprised when I am hurt in the exact same way.
Although this one really takes the cake, thus far. There should be some sort of prize. Perhaps a cake, that he could abscond with.
I apologize for being obtuse on purpose. Its not my fault. I am sad. And it is a Saturday afternoon. and I have nothing to do and no one to do it with.

(in this city
self-preservation
is a full time occupation
I'm determined
to survive on this shore
you know I don't
avert my eyes anymore
in a man's world
I am a woman by birth
and after nineteen times around I have found
they will stop at nothing once they know what you are worth
talk to me now
I played the powerless
in too many dark scenes
and I was blessed with a birth and a death
and I guess I just want some say in between
don't you understand
in the day to day
and the face to face
I have to act
just as strong as I can
just to preserve a place
where I can be who I am
so if you still know how
talk to me now)

Ok, no. Really. I QUIT.

HEAR ME?

Homesick=this video http://www.slc.edu/index.php?pageID=1442#living

Dear Jay,

You insist on taunting me. Also, why was I not informed of the presence of this video. Also, where are all my friends, oh. in this video on the internet. Narration: The opening shots are down the corridor of my house into my kitchen, next, my last brunch with the girls, subsequently elliott getting lunch at the pub, martha and Loras birthday party, development class and Josh Muldavin, my friends dancing on the lawn to stevie wonder cover band. Lora and sarah dancing at Bachanalia, Jay eating watermelon right before spillng beer all over my skirt, Jesse being a dork. GOOD LORD.

I dont know whether or not to be glad this exists, or terrified that I will reamin glued to the computer for the rest of my time here playing and replaying.

um. I have to go do something right now.

also- cryptic and self referential:

Holy holy holy holy what what what what what?
But in a good way.