a beggar, a hypocrite, love reign o'er me
09.19.03 @ 12:39 a.m.
Well. I have insane amounts of packing bearing down on my tonight, it's after midnight (as of right now, it's 12:07) and what am I doing? Reading really old entries in this very diary. Every now and then I get slightly enchanted with myself and want to see what I sounded like at some earlier time. It's like... when you're cleaning your room and you find your sixth grade diary and sit there paging through it even though you have better things to do.
Wanna know how ridiculous I am? I burned my sixth grade diary because I hated myself for ever liking my first boyfriend in the first place. I was also annoyed with some other things I had written. Though I would still be disgusted coming across EB+NL today, I think I would have liked to be able to take a look into my head back then. Apart from the idiot crush business. What's fun is finding old dream logs, especially since nine times out of ten I don't remember the dream, but images sometimes come back while I'm reading. You think this thing is totally gone from your head but then it comes creeping back. Someday I'll find the random notebook I grabbed to write the Jack White/Julian Casablancas/Elvis Costello dream from the other day and sit paging through the Barbie Fashion Machine crayon rubbings that fill most of the notebook and then, randomly, DREAM. With all it's celebrity filled strangeness.
The Barbie Fashion Machine is kick-ass, by the way, which is why I still own it. It's these interchangeable plastic plates so you can produce these mix-and-match fashions and then color them in. Originally, you were supposed to put the plates in this tray and crank it through the machine with carbon paper, but who the hell has carbon paper around anymore? So I occasionally drag it out of the closet, make a rubbing with a black crayon, then color it in with the other crayons. I'm such a girl. And Barbie is madly disproportionate. Her legs take up about two thirds of her body. You don't notice if you're doing a skirt one, but if you're doing the shorts one, it looks horrifying. Freakish. At least, it does to me now. When I was a kid, I'm sure I didn't notice. And I think that this thing actually belongs to my sister, but hey, finders keepers. Speaking of my girlishness, I was in the storage room and you know what? I have all my actual Barbies, too. I think she sparked my mild interest in fashion design, which still exists here, here, and here, among others.
So what should I be doing now? Packing like there's no tomorrow. Packing like I'm moving as much of my stuff as possible to Eugene tomorrow, which is what is actually happening. AAGGGH. And in the continuing saga of how I frequently find myself hating my dad, I asked if maybe we could move the desk down this weekend rather than all the boxes. I mean, he did claim that the desk was all cleaned out and ready. He said no and got slightly belligerant about it. But you know, he didn't have to fucking lie to me about whether it was ready or not. Just say it's not ready yet. Ugh. So whatever I can cram into boxes goes down tomorrow with the exception of my clothes... well, some stuff, like my bathrobe and dressy shirts I almost never wear, are still in boxes from the dorm and will go down. But the big laundry sack full of my most frequently worn clothing will have to wait until I'm done laundering it.
A week from tomorrow (er, today, I guess), I'll be having a bit of a shindig at my Eugene place. Excitement, eh? Mostly it'll be Moni, Paige, Andrew, Amy, and Martha (and Slavik would have been invited, too, had he not fled to the east coast and into the arms of Hurricane Isabelle, haha, sucker) and we'll... probably eat dinner, play board games or something and just hang out. Thence (ooh, I like using archaic phrasing, don't I?) to Corvallis to see Andrew and Amy's new digs. I'm hoping Food Network addicted Moni will help me cook, because I have no idea what to make that would please all. Chicken stir-fry? I'd probably do beef stir-fry (which my dad made last night and is divinely delicious) but SOME prissy people don't eat red meat. (I say as if I don't spend most of the year living with a vegetarian...)
Lastly, Let It Be . . . Naked. Has anyone else (apart from Slavik) heard about this? Is this not EXACTLY what I was ranting about last week? I'm so goddamn psychic. Like that time Sir Ian McKellan hosted SNL and I just knew he was going to comment on Jimmy Fallon being hot. Sir Paulie McC is releasing Let It Be sans Phil Spector inflicted orchestras et cetera and with a few tracks deleted and at least one added. No more dirty Maggie Mae and, oh, I forget what else. And frankly, I'd like to hear what Paul's original plan for "The Long and Winding Road" was because I really dislike that song as it is. I suppose I should listen to my anthology CDs. My brother just had to give them to us without the boxes or anything, so I don't know what the track listings are. Same with the one Zeppelin CD I've found in our house. Zep still hasn't grown on me, really. Though I don't think I dislike them. Same with Pink Floyd. And god knows I'll hear Dark Side of the Moon every day now that E* has entered high obsession with the album and the band. Funny, she used to hate the album.
Good god, here comes Conan. I shall force myself to stop writing... now.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
