Sometime in early summer when my bro, V, and I became friends again, he said to me, “P, I want you to listen to this chick. I think you’ll like her. She a bit off, like you. I know you like that kind of shit.”

He took me over to his computer and showed me a Lana del Rey video, “Born to Die”. I wasn’t very impressed, but I nodded my head and said, “yeah, yeah, she sounds good. Not bad.”

Turns out I’m really diggin’ her now. Not nose deep diggin’, just knee-high diggin’, ya dig?

****

Yeah, I admit that I like her music ok! There I said it. She’d probably be a cool chick to hang out with too. Yeah, sometimes she sounds like she’s having a seizure when she sings live, but I honestly think she’s just, you know, off. And I kind of like that. She’s not all jumping up and down the stage singing about partying. I think she has a pretty powerful voice actually; she just doesn’t control it well when she’s up in front of the mic live. I mean, shit, I’d probably sing like a dying baby goat if I went up in front of a stage. And I sing fairly good, mind you–good as in mediocre and taking into account my halfway deafness. ha.

Anyway, I was listening to her the other night, ON MY NEW-OLD phone that my bro’s sweet girlfriend gave me! Yep, I now have a smartphone! BOOYAH!

****

“Ride” is one of the songs that really got me liking this Lana girl—obviously a pseudo name ’cause girl is whiter than YouTube sensation Krispi Kreme. Lana is a beauty. In this song, she expresses some of the core “borderline” characteristics. And I mean the version that’s in this video specifically when she says, “mama said I always had a chameleon soul” and “no fixed personality”. Also the whole being a poet thing and “to seek safety in other people” really rings with me. I mean she’s running around with a whole bunch of older men.

This seems a bit pretentious, but it is good nonetheless. I have good taste so it’s GOOD CAUSE I SAY IT IS DAMMIT. I kid. Whatever never mind.

Note: The direction/cinematography/editing of the video is pretty damn good too!

****

Oh right the surgery?! The surgery went splendidly. I no longer have a metal rod stuck in my jaw, poking out on the back of my mouth. YAY! I’m in pain now and a bit high on Norco and don’t want to take more ’cause I know how quickly I can get out of hand– being impulsive and all, so I’ll go on the sewing machine for a bit.

Mouse love (the PLDs are off on vacation but they send their love too).

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I Was Tagged

January 17, 2012

I was tagged on Facebook the day after arriving in Florida. But because I’ve been avoiding Facebook and emails since my arrival, I didn’t really look at this until recently.

The caption reads: “Young woman circumvents physical and migratory obstacles.”

Tagged

Let me test my translation skills. A better translation would read: “Young woman circumvents obscenely high objects (anything above four feet) and runs a marathon around the crazy legal sytem and its illogical, inhumane immigration laws, and, despite finding herself unable to reach the finish line, continues to run.”

The article below reads: “A hispanic minor dies… shot caused by her cousin.”

Shit! Tragedy. That’s how the news works. One story is about a construction worker saving three dozen kittens from a pipe near his home; the next is about how a three ton pipeline fell, crushing three construction workers and a kitten.

I honestly still haven’t read the article. From what I saw, they added a year to my age. And they know nothing about my mental disorder, so I know I seem more optimistic than I currently am. I skimmed the bit of article that shows in this photo just to block out the name, but otherwise I haven’t. I really should revel more in my accomplishments instead of beating myself up over what I haven’t done or what I cannot do because of my predicament and insecurities. Right, and no “should” statements. Here, I’ll practice what I’ve learned from therapy. It would be good if I reveled more in my accomplishments. There.

So here it is. My moment of revelry–siting in Eloise’s room by myself, sharing this semi-anonymously over the internet. I too have a dream! I too want ice cream!

MLK's Dreamsicle

Dreamsicle

One day, I too will have my dreamsicle! And dammit, it will be tasty!

Until then, I’m going to write. I’m going to write with the furry that’s in me. Also, I’m going to try to finish writing what I had started about Florida tomorrow morning. Eloise (damn I should give my girl a proper introduction before mentioning her so many times) is gone for the night. She’s out with her boyfriend (I’m not fond of him), so I feel free to write until she gets back. I think I have until tomorrow. Shhh.

Otherwise, I cannot write at ease. Every time I get close to being caught blogging, I feel a jolt of anxiety, as if I were shamed, as if I were being caught smoking crack. Whenever I’m on here and she passes by me, I always quickly close the tab the way Kanye West would close a flashing porn site every time his girlfriend passed by.

Two weeks ago she asked me if I had a blog. It went something like this:

“Paula, do you have a blog?”

I stare at her blankly for a moment.

“Yes I do,” I eventually reply.

Then, I say nothing else. I look away and stare at her cat who’s incidentally staring at me as if to say, “You can ses it! You can! You can has too! Yes. Yes! Come on you. Spek!”

And as we sit in awkward silence for a few seconds, I’m fully aware that she’s seeking more information, yet I withhold. She’s waiting for me to tell her about it, but since I’m not yet comfortable with my close friends or relatives reading it, I stall a little longer.

“So are we still going to go to the farmer’s market?” I quickly change the subject hoping she will get the hint. She’s good at getting hints and backs off. We move on. Whew.

I still feel like she knows more though. Why else would she have asked? Was it because I told her I wanted to start a blog? Was it because I’ve been spending half of my time here reading other people’s blogs?

I feel like maybe she’s sneaked into my blog while I’ve left the room and my computer is just lying there open pleading to her, or maybe she quietly opens it while I’m in the bathroom showering or having more trouble with the shitty toilet design. I don’t think she would. I’m not going to defame anyone I care about on here, I hope. Then why am I so hesitant?

While I ponder my avoidance, I’ll leave you with this wonderful quote that I try to live by:

Now you listen to me. While I will admit to a certain cynicism, the fact is I am a naysayer and hatchetman in the fight against violence. I pride myself on taking a punch and I’ll gladly take another because I choose to live my life in the company of Gandhi and King. My concerns are global. I reject absolutely pride, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love. I love you Sheriff Truman.

— Albert Rosenfield to Sheriff Truman, Twin Peaks