The 206

Read Julie's Blog. That shit from today is fuckin' true. goodiemonster.blogspot.com

Coming to Seattle for one week.
I need a vacation from this vacation.

I can't wait to see the real ocean.
I can't wait to see home. And home people. And home dogs.

There ain't nothin' like the 206.
New York is pretty amazing, but it's a diffrerent world over here.

While Sammy Masters Tekken, I...

One of my friends has an agent. I saw this friend a couple of weeks ago, and she told me something which I have been thinking about ever since. She kept saying she was "the best friend". Eventually I learned: the way she started out, her agent told her she was in the "fat bitch" category. She got a personal trainer, and lost 20 pounds. Then her agent told her she had reached "the best friend". She was so pleased about this. She would choose not to eat things, reminding herself, "I am the best friend", and, if she forgot, one of our overly consciencious gay friends would remind her "BEST FRIEND! BEST FRIEND!" "My agent says," she informed me in a business-like demeanor, "If I lose 20 more pounds, I'll become the PROTAGONIST. And I will lose 'best friend" status". And this is the business I want to enter into.
Still, I keep seeing girls on the subway, and moving in droves down the street in Williamsburg, and I keep asking myself, "The Best Friend?'
Agents.


I've got a friend who's got a black chest from a girl he says he won't see anymore. I've got a friend who says she'll never sleep with someone again and is fine the way she is right now. I've got a friend who's making declarations to girls he will probably never meet. I've got a friend who likes to learn the same lessons over and over again. I've got a friend who never calls but probably always thinks about it, and still calls me the same thing. I've got a friend who lies and doesn't know it, and I'm lieing to call him my friend. I've got a friend who settled down, and I think she finally likes it. I've got a friend who rarely speaks to even his best friends and rarely has concerns for himself that I can find.
What are we doing?

I love Tekken. I want to be the superior at Tekken Tag, My hand-eye coordination still leaves much to be desired, but I know I can train well, if I commit. Like the Karate Kid. But more of a girl.

If New York got much hotter I am certain I would start to melt like the candy house in Hansel and Grettel.

I pee about every 15 minutes. I smoke about every 15 minutes. It's a schedule I'm still getting accquainted with.

I'm thinking about what it means to be a pleasent liar when it doesn't hurt anyone. I'm thinking about how I might respect those liars. Or not. I'm thinking about deciding.

Someone told me recently that I am the most selfish person they've ever met. I've been thinking maybe they are right, and that double standards are more confusing than was intially anticipated.

I've been thinking that the Garth Brooks song "The Dance" can go fuck itself, and find someone else to harass in that 12 year old kind of way for a while.

I saw three mice last night. And about 15 cockatroaches. Those fuckers are deffintely breeding.

The common form for Haiku is: 5, 7, 5. And I stand behind this.

Goal: not wake up at two in the afternoon.

Summer Mix

Yep. Now it's official. Everybody's life seems much more interesting than mine. No. That's a lie. Everybody seems much better at talking about it. Or else I just read too much Francesca Lia Block in high school, and anyone who sounds like they're living it is magic.

I always forget how to spell "magic".

The boys hae farmers tans. Not Eric, because he works at a desk and only wears his spring berak shirts in the house. Not Sam either, but I cannot picture Sammy with a tan of any kind. Liam's is the worst. Or best, depending which way you look at it. I have the tan which only appears when you stick my arm next to people who live in urban caves.

I keep trying to make a summer mix. I keep forgetting all the songs I think of. The only song I can always remember is "America", Simon and Garfunkel. That's probably because it usually makes me cry.

I watched "Almost Famous" again the other day, laying on Suzie's floor, on top of her body pillow, trying to forget my hangover and turning up the air conditioner. Probably every 20 minutes of that movie made me cry. Especially the part when they play "America", which is what reminded me of the song. God that movie is so good.

I remember, when I was in high school I talked about making a "mix tape", and my much cooler friend turned to me, and informed me in a very stern voice, that they are always called "comp tapes", or "compillations", but never, EVER are they called "mix tapes", unless you don't know what you're talking about. Some lessons can never be learned.

A bad idea is to go through your old emails which you have saved from people you thought would always be important. Some doors are meant never to be opened again, or, if they are, don't open them with the expecation that whatever you find won't matter. Time passed glorifies everything.

I'm trying to work on posture again. My mom always said that if you slouch, one day you'll stick that way, and I saw an old woman in Brooklyn with a hunched back so bad it made me terrified, and I realized that every time I sit I am too lazy to sit up straight, and I don't want to become 40 and realize that my shoulder blades are rotating outwards and my spine is overtaking my back like an angry snake and have nothing I can do about it. So I keep reminding myself. Sit up. How are you sitting? Sit up more.


Sometimes I realize I am living in moments that will be nostalgic later on. I'm never sure exactly what to do in those moments.
I love this house. I love these people. I love drinking mexican beers, and playing two dollar poker, and trying to spoon a dog who doesn't care, and chasing roaches, and sitting in the alley, and having computer parties, and always finding someone in the living room, and watching how everyone hugs eachother goodbye before they leave, and getting advice and listening to advice and giving advice, and eating weird George Foreman burgers together, and playing TekkenTag and God of War, and listening to Sammy's songs for the 900th time, and doing all the dishes and feeling like the stay-at-home housewife, and being sweaty, and napping in the King's Chair, and taking the train en mass, and knowing that it's still only the middle of July. One day, though, this summer is going to end.

I write so much on the internet and so little on my own. Something to try.

the mice are closing in

Eric keeps posting things posed as me. He's probably just advancing my sweet street cred.

The mice keep coming back into the apartment. This time I think they are living behind the refridgerator and underneath the tv unit which doesn't work. I was reading last night after everyone had fallen asleep, and those little fuckers have become so brave that they were climbing around the rug at my feet, and trying to scale the radio antenna by my head. They stared me down. I stared them down. The only way I won was by shouting at them over and over, forcing them to run back under the refridgerator, underneath the tv. I don't know if they wanted to eat me, or spoon me. They are so cute, I would like to think it is spooning. Although I wouldn't be surprised if they multiplied and eventually carried me off into the night, poking me with tiny spears.

Aviodance is my tactic for pretty much everything. I do not respect this tactic.

I just keep moving idlly around the apartment. Couch, giant chair, kitchen for water, floor to pet the dog, bathroom, giant chair, couch, loft, down the stairs, turn around, up the stairs, couch, myspace for the tripple-digited time, open a book, read a page, close the book, floor to pet the dog, check the time on my phone, check the time on the stove clock, kitchen for more water, kitchen for more water, giant chair, change my shirt, bathroom, kitchen for more water and dillided luke warm tea, rearange things on the coffee table, couch, giant chair, couch, floor, dog, check the time, giant chair, bathroom, couch, bathroom, water, kitchen, couch, dog. All day. I don't know what I'm doing or not doing. Avoidance leads to feeling unsettled. So that would make sence. Dog, couch, chair, water, bathroom, dog.

More sunshine, Eric says. What is going on with me today? I feel like I am slipping slowly down the rungs of some very tall ladder. Like I should be spinning tiny circles on the carpet.

Going to see Sammy's show tonight. Sammy's shows are bangin'.

Bloggerist!

I love blogging. It just really makes me happy to know that everyone can read about my awesomeosity. I also like racist jokes and handicapped kids. Their precious. Anyhow, have a good day!

The Thing About Happiness

The thing about happiness is that it is entirely and most often possible for you to be happy in your life, and be simultaneously swimming in an equally proportionate ammouont of anxious, grievous, unnerved selves. I keep thinking that happiness should just mean happiness, by which I mean that to feel you are happy, or content on the whole, should also imply that in that state you should be without emotions attributed to negative states. But that just isn't true. And it's different than saying that you're happy and lieing. I can't figure it out exactly.

The thing about happiness is that it is hard to accept. I have a difficult time allowing myself to express that emotion when it is purely selfish. If I am with someone, and I am happy to be with that person, I am unable to share that feeling with others because it is automatically realted to a sensation of guilt I feel over talking about it. It is hard for me to allow myself to actually feel it with others, especially over prolonged periods of time, because I think, deep down, I don't actually believe that it is fair for me to have that kind of happiness. That, also, ultimately triggers sensations of guilt and selfishness. Clearly, that is a problem. I don't feel that way about the people in my life whom I love in a platonic sense, but only the ones I take interest in romantically. I have no idea why that is. Cna't figure it out. And clearly, if that is something that is going on, I project it into a relationship, making the relationship difficult, and proving why I am not very good at having them. Also, thereby creating a problem that cannot be addressed because I have no idea why it happens. Most of the time I don't even realize that it is happening at all. And eventually it might just be most appropriate for me to be the single middle aged one of us all, who teaches everyone else's kids dirty jokes. And I'm not even saying that could be the worst thing to happen. I just think, probelms without change leave little options for the future.

The thing about happiness is that I am. I am happiness? Sure. Why the fuck not. I mean, I'm enough of everything else, why not be happiness too. No. I have no idea what I'm saying.

The thing about happiness is, I finally have the time to think about it.

hot monday

I wrote a blog
but then it sounded sad
and also stupid
so I erased it
and made this poem
about how there is no blog
and it is really hot and sweaty.

That's what being sober gets you.

Poker & Goodnight Moon.

I played poker for five hours and came down to the final three. not bad for someone who is still trying to figure out how the fuck to bet or bluff properly.

the input for my computer is totally gone, and all music attempted to play from it is dicy.

Yep. I'm listening to Billy Joel. Yep, Piano Man is pretty fucking awesome.

I have had the foresight to edit out any of the honest things I was going to say. So now I don't know what to say.

I am glad when good people find eachother. but it also makes me want to eat off my own ankles because it seems obsurd that everyone else should be so good at it.

I am like a tiny boy. No one likes a tiny boy. Except for me, and I chose it for myself. Oh let's cry about it. Ok. Thanks, crying music.

Let's talk about how good things come for Cananda. They really do.

One day when I am aunty Carlee, and I am very wrinkled, I will tell all my friend's children about my adventures, and about my boozin' days, and maybe if I'm lucky, I'll come out sounding like Peter Pan. If only. And we can hope.

I want to pet a million animals at a petting zoo. I want to sleep for 86 hours. I want to eat a taco (but what else is new), or five. I want to stomp around my old neighborhood, and I want to stop around my new neighborhood, if only to hear the baby gangsters try and deffend me to perpetrating strangers. I want to find a little bundle of linnens and I want to hide there for some time until everything sounds quiet and I can crawl out and pretend that things are new. I really like when old things feel new again. I really like hobbit holes and cubbies. I want to live in one, not just a makeshift one, where unidentified bugs won't bite me.

I want to meet my 17 year old self, and ask her why she was so involved with everything that she was, and about how she never managed to feel bad about it. 17 year old me was awesome and retarded, but never knew it. I just had very, very long hair. And that, I did know.

Yep. I am going to go to sleep alone on this couch, again, because I am too affraid of the cubby bugs and mice. And all the lights are on and I'm not going to turn them off, just leave them there, on like we are still playing goddamned poker, and whe n I wake up it will feel like it was never night at all, which is how i preffer it because I am so affraid of the dark.

Goodnight fluorescant lights.
Goodnight night.
Goodnight self.
Goodnight little moon.

Welcome, me. Chapter, one.

Thanks to Eric for helping me navigate my way through blog-space, and so graciously posting my "first post!!!!!". Senior Frogs rules.

Why not? Why not make a "blog"? Will anyone read it? Probably not? And I'll probably write most of it when I'm drunk anyway, so it's all for the best. I had a live journal once. It's true. I think it still exists, and unfortunately I found it once, and rediscovered all of the sappy excited-by-the-moment things I had written when I was all fired up at five am. It's alot like revisiting the pictures from middle school when you wore hollogram daisy t-shirts, and glued rhinestones to your forehead. Or maybe that was just me. Oh the delicious dark ages.

I wrote to an old close friend about the past year or so of my life, and when she responded about her life, she told me that my life sounded like a rollercoaster, and that she was no longer on one. She and her wife had gotten married, and accquired a bunch of dogs, and had steady jobs, and smoked cigarettes, and missed their hometowns, and loved eachother, and were leaning how to settle into themselves. And I thought, how nice. And haven't I just settled into the scrappy friend role who writes to her big kid friends about her misadventures, and sometimes they take her in for dinner and let her cuddle their dogs? It's ok. I don't mind so far. And her life sounds beautiful. And I didn't think mine was a rollercoaster. Either way, that's what made me decide to start a blog.

I feel like part of really loving humans in life is also masking yourself so you don't hurt anyone or make any enemies. I really respect people who don't care. I am very good at camoflauging. Obviously bad at spelling it. But I was thinking. Around the time of my birthday I was thinking, and realized I had made the lamest New Years resolution ever (do more push ups. Yeah. That happened.), and that maybe, if I was going to turn 23 regardless of wanting to stay 22 (or 19), maybe I should make some "birhtday resloutions", about things that, you know, really mater. Couldn't do it. I sat down for a long time trying to think of things, little list things, and pretty much just came up with "be less affraid of things". Though realistically, many of the things I am affraid of are too rediculous to matter at all (killer whales, subways), and I could have found many more construcitve filters to process that idea through. but I didn't, and eventually I gave up. I was then thinking, the time will come, when I will know exactly how to talk about it, and whenever that happens I will make my resolutions, whatever they are, however insignifigant.

The motion of things has now forced me to to think about "It", it being things I want to change, or admit, or resolve to do, and so on.

With this level of seriousness I should just actually get a deviantart.com account and post pictures of weeping roses. Bear with me.

I love all people. Most people think it can't be true, that if they knew me they could harness the way I feel and whittle it down somehow, and maybe eventually someone could, but I just love humans. I was exactly that kid in elementary school who was really uncool, but was friends with everyone, because I liked people and I was nice. Pretty much, still that way. I just want to know people, and understand what they are about, and drink with them, and dance with them, and so on. Sometimes I feel guilty becasue I think that it must be wrong to want to know so many people, or talk with them, and that if I do that, I am spreading myself too thin, and denying the people I really care about the time and attention they deserve. Probably sometimes it's true, and probably sometimes it's not. Either way, I don't know. But I worry. My mom told me that when I was a baby I always stayed awake. My parents were the first ones in their group of friends to have a baby, so I went to all the parties with them. My mother tells me that when she tried to put me down to sleep at someone's party, I would crawl out of the bed, and sit in the living room on the floor, and that I would refuse to fall asleep until everyone else had left. Don't know how that was born in me, but it probably explains alot.

I found myself at Bennington in June, with a week left of school, and nowhere to go afterwards. I couldn't afford to go home, and many of my New York friends had things going on. I then found myself in Atlanta, for a month. Living in the good graces of Wythe's family, without anything to do. Let me tell you, Atlanta is not a great place to be if you have nothing to do. It doesn't matter now anyway. It will matter some months from now when I write a screenplay, but for now, all that matters is that I am finally in a place where I can do things. I can walk out of my door and see young people. I saw some little dudes with spike belts at the Williamsburg Italian-catholic carnival today, and I just wanted to hug them and take their picture, because they just seemed so pumped to be getting Zappies (or whatever they are called), and it made me so happy. Them, and the nuns eating sandwiches who smiled at me. Way to go for nuns. And way to go for little babies wearing bling. I saw alot of those.

Some things.
I drink alot. I love drinking alot. I hate waking up at four in the afternoon.
First impressions are good, but second impressions are better.
Sometimes you talk yourself into a hole, and you should have the foresight to just stay there. I usually don't.
Learning how to love someone you have to choose not to be with is hard. And making it harder is when that person doesn't understand that your distance is not a measurement of your dislike, but rather the opposite.
I am not good at being the person to end things. I try never to end things.
I hate conflict. Conflict, unless it is amicable arguement, makes me black out, and then I have no idea what has happened afterwards. Very unhelpful.
I like to dance. All the time. I feel very uncomfortable if everyone else is a really good dancer.
I don't know how to do the couple dance. I do the solo-running-man dance. Lest it be a slow dance, then, perhaps.
I am shitty on the phone. I aviod using it so I don't have to be shitty.
Pretty much every cartoon ever has made me cry. Dumb romantic commedies too, though, thankfully I can say I hate those.
I find that in times when I am trying to cover my ass I grossly try to overexplain myself, which helps nothing, and often makes them quite a lot worse.
I love smoking. I know I should soon quit smoking. I smoke much more when uncomfortable.
I don't have any hair. Despite the wrapping paper the present is not a lesbian, and let's all keep that in mind.
Pride is always the last thing to go.
Someday I will have a colony of dogs. And I will roll around with them.
One half of me is a 50 year old woman. And the other half is a 16 year old boy. Theay are at constant conflict with one another.

That's exactly it. Half 50 year old woman, half teenage boy. 100% 23 year old girl. Very confusing, these compositions.

I think it would be great to sleep on a roof top. I think it would be great to fall asleep at 12 and wake up at nine, like normal people, and I think it would be great to read a book, or 60, and I think I would like to learn how to read all over again because I don't know anymore, and I think I would like to call my father every week eventhough he raised me and he doesn't mind when I don't, I would like to go to the Statue of Liberty because she scares me from far away, I would like the bug bites on my legs to go away so I can look like a normal-less-itchy-human-being, I think I want to not feel like an asshole for a while and give myself the license to do it, I want to be a funny person with a pot belly and stop making jokes about it, I want to hug a nun and watch old italian men play music together, and I want to watch families of wives with mongramed necklaces and husbands with sleeveless t-shirts and babies with too many siblings who are all screaming try to have a good time together, and I want to eat tater tots, and I want to hug really great people like the ones I am seeing all the time, and I want to appologize when I should but not all the time like I do now, and I would really like to stop compromising so much or compromising so little and find the things to compromise about that really matter, and I think I would like to stop rambling and finally after all this time being alive learn how to be consisce, and I think it would be great to cry when I feel like it (aka All Dogs Go To Heaven) and hold it together when appropriate, and I want to wear a disco ball dress and bounce around like Huckleberry Finn, and I want to wake up and feel promise, and I want to give into the cheesieness, because I mean it all and I just am that way.
"Wake up and feel promise". What a chode-y idea. Doesn't mean it's not true.

Hey guys!

Hi! My name is Carlee, and I want to meet some really awesome boys and just, ya know, hang out! I like having a good time and chillin with my girlz! See you at Senor Frogs! Margarita shooters! BFF!! Lets have a serious hang out! Leave me some comments and we can hook up for Fuzzy Navels and watchin TV! I am looking for a man that will treat me like a girl. No mean guys! I like guys that can make me laugh but are serious about the relationship. LOL!! You guys are great! Check out my poetry at Deviant Art.com to get a better idea of me! XOXO