Stop reading. Lean back. Give me your mouth.

Goodbye, cruel world!

2011-03-25T09:18:00.003Z

Okay, that was a bit dramatic.
And this isn't really a "goodbye" so much as it is a change-of-address alert.
This little blog is going to sleep, but it is staying up.
I'll just be coming at you--much more regularly, I might add--from somewhere new.
Shiny new blog is right this way.

Still following you crazy kids because I just like you so much.
Thanks for reading and not getting sick of me.

Lots of love,
Liz

Back again!

2011-02-20T17:32:00.002Z

Things wrong with this video:

- "A lull in not posting." What the hell?

- Whatever it is that sounds like an electronic rattlesnake in the background.

- The intermittent time-jumps.

- Mah face.

Really back. For real.

Follower Love-Fest #17: Áine D

Áine here is a bit of special case because this lovely lady is one of the few followers I know in real life. We go to college together, but in different courses. Alas, we have fallen behind on seeing each other this year. My fault, I'll be honest. I actually would have see her last night, but I wanted to stay home and work. Wait, this is not about me.

Áine has amazing hair. Don't look at me that way. Her hair is always glossy and fabulous and fucking incorruptible. She also has the most amazing assortment of printed blouses and dresses. And some killer dance moves. I owe her endless pb&j's just to repay her for existing in my world. Áine, you are my hero.

My apologies to your browser--there are a lot of pictures in hurrr.

2010-12-29T01:43:00.013Z

I know most people express their love for facially-based follicles in November, so you can accuse me of being behind the times or unfashionable or whatever. That’s okay. I can take it. My current celebration of the scruffy stuff is inspired by Christmas.

No, that’s not why.

Wrong again.

One of my oldest friends was my Secret Santa and, knowing me a little too well, gave me this fella’.

His name is Valentino. Swoon.

He loves Christmas, Spanish reds, and sweet potato pancakes.

Back on track.

Valentino’s glorious arrival comes on the heels of a discussion among my housemates about facial hair. Specifically, the fact that beards seem to be considered trustworthy and lovely, while moustaches are only for men who want to tie you to the train tracks or worse.

I tried to defend the moustache by listing all of the trustworthy and wholesome ones in the world, but my struggle to do so pretty much proved my opponents' argument.

So what does this mean?

Probably not a whole lot in the grand scheme of things.

I am almost positive, however, that there is a mathematical equation that explains my particular relationship with facial hair. That is, the more questionable and unsavoury a man's facial hair is, the more likely I am to trust/be attracted to him.

Exceptions:

Starburns from Community.

Neckbeards.

'Prove it, Liz! You can't just make these wild statements. Back up your thesis. See, this is why you'll never succeed as an academic. You make me sick.'

Okay. Ouch, but I get your drift.

Exhibit A: John Waters

The pencil-thin moustache is associated with general creepiness the world over, and matching it with a Santa hat for a mugshot isn't likely to endear one to the PTA any time soon. Knowing that this type of moustache is so reviled should be enough to dissuade any man from cultivating one for himself. But he's John fucking Waters. Man gets the joke. I appreciate that. I'd much rather leave the kids with him if I'm out for the night than with that snotty girl from up the block. Psh. Charging me twelve bucks and hour so you can sit on my couch and eat all the Pringles? I don't think so.

What I am trying to say is that I trust him because he can laugh at himself. And I kind of adore him anyway.

Exhibit B: Tom Waits

Not a moustache, I know, but a soul patch is just the worst. We all know it. If we go back to that old math equation, though, it holds true.

It's the most hated of facial hair formations.

And he is the hottest thing on two legs.

Do the math.

Exhibit C: Sam Rockwell

Mr. Rockwell has made a career out of being skeazy-but-endearing, so it stands to reason that he would have something awful on his upper lip at some stage. He makes people feel the need to shower. Whether those showers are hot or cold, however, depends on the person. Heyyyo. But, really. The man looks shady enough without the 'stache, so it's addition should be the proverbial cricket bat to the skull. And yet, dear readers, as I sit here all schnuggly in my jimjams I find myself wishing I had his number so I could invite him over for a movie night. Because he looks like a solid guy. And he'd probably bring a few of the remaining cans of Four Loko in the area to make it a party. He's a good friend.

Exhibit D: Zachariah Hickman

There is nothing to defend here. This moustache is the stuff of legends.

Plus, there's the song.

Follower Love-Fest #16: Gazel M

Were it not for the fact that she does, I'd be convinced that Gazel is too cute to function. Her blog, Bonjour Gazel, is a dreamland of cute smiles and fantastic clothes. Not gonna' lie, kids, I kind of want to be her. Or, at the very least, to live in the Narnia of her wardrobe. Just cardigans and blouses and ruby shoes all day. And, I know this might be creepy, but Mr. Waters would support me in saying that this girl has the most perfect mastery of lipstick in the history of lip rouging. Oh, and you should buy things (for me) from her.

OHAI.

2010-12-28T00:31:00.007Z

Right. I've decided to get back in the saddle before the New Year so that it can't be chalked up as a resolution that I have no intention of keeping up with.

Hope you all had a lovely holiday/blizzard. I have a bit of holiday cheer left over, so I thought I might share.

Yeah. It's that kind of post.

Anyway, it's now time for

Follower Love-Fest #15: Susan

I actually love this girl and her blog, Bit Cat. She hasn't updated since August, I know, and that makes me sad all day. Still, her posts are like sunshine. They are upbeat and tend to be picture-heavy, making them just my speed. Did you click through yet? If you did you will have noticed and remarked upon the glory of Susan's hair and the adorability of her pets to your imaginary friend Saul. Oh, Saul, you so crazy.

Reading Week Blues

2010-11-13T23:56:00.003Z

No blues, really.

I got a fair bit of work done. Admittedly, I lost some of my 'I'm going to show Third Year what's for!' steam, meaning I also spent a little too much appreciating my comforter. It was bound to happen.

Exciting-type stuff:

- I got a remote internship for an online magazine, which I'm pretty jazzed about. They were kind enough to take me up, despite the string of expletives I mumbled at my computer while my Skype spazzed out during the interview.

-I'm now writing for one of my university's publication's sites. Holy possessive, Batman! Given, the post isn't up yet, but it has been written and that's half the battle for me.

Oh, and but Justin Townes Earle is going to be in town in January.

'Are you going to get tickets, Liz?'

'Shut up! Is it January yet?'

In short, I am very excited and think that this is just the right kind of surprise I needed after losing several battles with the photocopier/the will to live.

If you don't know who this young man is, that's fine. It was about time for an embedded YouTube clip anyway.

Even more excited.

Follower Love-Fest #14 : Frannie

Frannie is a great gal, it must be said. Our friendship is not entirely based on our mutual love for early Twentieth Century circuses, but it's not hurt by it either. Whenever I visit her in Florida, we're hella' subversive in our avoidance of Disney. Instead, we reenact episodes of Dexter with the aid of food dye and voice-overs recorded on our trusty Talkgirls.

Close enough.

2010-10-20T20:49:00.006+01:00

We're about a month into Third Year, folks. How terrifying is that? Well, if you're a twenty-year-old who yo-yos between being easily distracted from her work by anything going and Sudden Death Stress Mode, it's pretty damn scary. Things are going pretty well so far, though.

Well, barring that two week period (a.k.a. 'the first two weeks of classes') when I split my time between a hospital bed and my apartment.

Yep. The night after a glorious 'Welcome Back to College!' Star Wars marathon in our new flat I woke up all puffy and cute. Several trips to the hospital later, I was a medical mystery. It would have been cooler if Hugh Laurie were insulting my intelligence and popping pills all sexy-like, but, alas, most of my doctor dealings ran closer to the hospital scene from Idiocracy.

It's all gravy now. I think I've caused enough mental and emotional anguish for my loved ones for a while. Seriously. The levels of loveliness reached by everyone around me were borderline dangerous.

And Third Year Liz is a force to be reckoned with. She goes to bed early(ish), plans ahead, pays the bills, does (almost) all of her reading, and sends internship applications months before deadlines require. As I type this, I already have my schedule set to be in college all day.

'But you have no classes on Thursdays.'

'I know. I'd like to get into the library before my responsibilities start at noon. Secondary reading, you know.'

On the one hand, the fact that I am fast becoming the Squarest of Them All is making me sick. I mean, I never had much street-cred to begin with. This responsibility kick is going to seriously weaken my chances of getting into the T-Birds.

Por otro lado, I really hope it lasts. This kind of frenzy I've been working myself into reminds me of high school. Back in the day, I was a beast. I don't want to quite reach that level of insanity again, as I've become quite accustomed to more than three hours of sleep, but I do appreciate my down time a lot more when there is so little. My little cup of green tea tastes better because I earned that mofo. And because I treated myself to a super-neato trip to the tea shop, but whatever.

Things to keep in mind:

-I've only kept this nonsense up for a week and a half, so we'll see what happens.

-Buddy will always support me.

Follower Love-Fest #13: Anne Brown

Annie here loves to Vogue. She just can't get enough of it. Ask her, 'Whatchu' lookin' at?' I dare you. It's a sure-fire way to get this little lady snapping her fingers and striking a pose like it's going out of style. Really, Anne just loves Madonna. We nearly parted ways during a lunch when I said that Madonna's arms make me want to curl up in a ball and hide behind Michelle Obama. I wound up wearing Anne's slice of Key lime pie in my hair on the walk home. Who looked stupid? I did.

Well, that lasted long.

2010-10-11T23:53:00.004+01:00

Pictured: Several of the rocks I've been hiding under.

I intend to be up and running, clogging your feeds with YouTube links and some reference to baked good or another in the next few days. Until then, I give you the entry I had meant to post about three weeks ago. Progress is progress.

Hello, kids. I'm a bad blogger and I know it. My constant dry spells and subsequent need for forgiveness are just part of my charm though, right? It was near-August when I last posted. Oops. Here are a few things I've learned since then.

-An instrument tuned to A440 'makes you a little nervous'. (Thank you, Steve Lindley.)

-Couples love me. I don't know what it is, ladies and gentlemen, but something about me puts romantic duos in a giving mood. Give me your spare water bottle? Sure. Let me move to the front row of the concert? But of course. Swipe me through when my MetroCard isn't working? Don't give it another thought.

-Teaching hospitals are considerably less fun than an episode of Scrubs when you're on the patient-side of things.*

-It is possible for me to send several letters to the wrong addresses. Twice.

-Rabbit is delicious.

-Telling your brain to shut up when a situation is entirely out of your hands will make for a much more enjoyable time. I mean, there's nothing you can do about potentially being trapped on a island, is there?

-Road rage is easier to manage with a rubber orca in the passenger's seat.

-Airport security personnel really appreciate winter-wear.

-Finding the ridiculous nightshirt of your dreams is well worth the risk of bed bugs.

-I am just as gullible as I was at five. Creator of that Mars hoax, you broke my heart.

Follower Love-Fest #12: Z

I love the mystery of Z. One letter is all you need, and it's just the right one when A-Y just won't do. Z is, as his (her? I really don't know.) picture will show, is a leather-clad warrior who is liable to take your ass down a peg or two if you so much as look at his Beanie Baby collection the wrong way.

*This one will come up again in our next edition, too. El ohh el.

Anyway, I'm trying out this new thing where I'm a truly productive member of society. I get up early, eat wholesome breakfasts, get all my work done, am highly involved in extracurriculars--all that kind of stuff. Or, at least, that's the idea. We'll see how it works out.

No more excuses.

2010-07-28T22:48:00.005+01:00

Hey, folks. Okay. Back and ready for business.

Since my last post, I

-had very little Internet access

-thought Mortimer the Mac was dead. Again.

-was able to revive the little bastard. (Might change his name to Lazarus. It's a thought.)

-caught a crazy-bad case of strep throat out of nowhere.

-mostly recovered from said illness, thanks to many pills and daytime TV.

-got my first adult American passport.

Please feel free to finish the sentence with any of those options, since they're all true.

I find the last one the most exciting/scary bananas because it means that I can no longer escape my fate as an adult, at least in the eyes of the United States government.

Yeah, well tell that to my steady diet of ice pops and chicken soup.

It is really exciting, though.

So, now I'm going to read your blogs until the one title I know of for next year's reading list arrives in the mail.

Awww yeah.

Follower Love-Fest #11: Alegra

Alegra's blog, Dollface is Candysweet, is one of the first that I clicked the friendly little 'Follow' button on. It must be said, first and foremost, that she is a Grade A cutie-patootie, and I don't mind saying so. Her closet is nothing short of enviable. Or is it her style? Hell, it's probably both. Pluse, she's funny as hale. Case and point: 'i can also never leave the house without my primark denim shirt. it does to me what american apparel does to other people. it makes me think i'm cool.' Did you laugh? Of course you did. Oh, and her DVD collection (it's her background in most outfit posts) is worthy of some mouth-dropping, too.

I am not a golden god.

2010-07-18T20:43:00.007+01:00

I'm not going to bother apologizing for the repeated lull in activity because I recently had two experiences which forced me to come to terms with the fact that I am a mere mortal.

UNO - I exceeded my bandwidth on Photobucket. I had been posting gifs, screencaps, and silly pictures all over the internet, not thinking for a moment that my Dancing Artie Party would ever end.

Exhibit A:

Then, horror struck. I was cut down in my prime, all of my situationally-hilarious snippets turned to badges of shame.

Exhibit B: That's what shame looks like, folks.

Now I know that I have to slow my roll. Or, at the very least, create an army of accounts, thus further crowding my life with clutter. Not sure if digital clutter is quite the same as a collection of Burger Kings toys from the 90s, but you get what I mean.

Dos - Being a good American, I wanted a PB&J. Two slices of rye and one spoonful of Jif later, it was time for the jammyjam. Got my raspberry goodness all set up and was about to seal the deal/the bread together in a delicious matrimony until I saw an irregular lump on the jammyjam side. IT WAS A BUG, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. A DEAD BUG.

Not that I try to relate every possible moment of my life back to Anne Shirley and her shenanigans, but all I could think (other than, 'Ew. Ew. Ew.') was, 'Well, I suppose in the end it was a romantic way to perish. For a bug.'

My sentiments exactly, Ms. Shirley.

There is always good news! Despite technological failings on my part, the Fringe posts are finally up. Belated One and Belated Two.

Follower Love-Fest #10: Rich

Rich's blog is the glorious Bittersweet. I don't know where he gets all of these recipes and, quite frankly, I don't care. Everything looks tasty and gives my baking-challenged self hope that I can make tasty treats without burning the house down or poisoning my loved ones. Plus, he's a snarky dude, which I love. Hey, he says it himself, 'Sugar and sarcasm.' Always a winning combination.

2010-06-30T16:11:00.007+01:00

When I said that I would start reading for my classes, I don

't think I was very clear.

What I meant to say was, 'I am going to carry around my copy of Metamorphoses, read about twenty pages, then get distracted, reread all of my Vonnegut books, try to organize my bookshelf, and make iced tea.' Sorry for any confusion.

Yep.

As with last time, the internet ate my newest Fringe post. Cue combination of me feeling like a douchenozzle and hating technology.

I might hop in the car and take advantage of those stress relievers labelled 'Free Windows' in front of a house up the road.

In other news, after a year of being sweaty and cranky, we finally got the air conditioner fixed. HIGH FIVE ME, INTERNET.

That is technology I can get behind. I know, I know. It's a luxury that our ancestors got along without just fine. But our ancestors also thought that maggots came from dirty rags and that mercury could cure venereal diseases. And that's just science.

Goddamn right, Azrael.

Oh ho ho. I made a funny.

Plan for the day:

-Call up jobs to check in again. (Are you sick of this yet? Tough break. So am I.)

-Unpack properly. Oops.

-Call the camera repair shop to see what the damage is to the Hammer and my wallet.

-Buy glitter.

-Run some other sundry errands.

-Make veggie burgers?

Follower Love-Fest #9: Min

Min's blog, Don't Say Stuff Like That, is an eyegasm. Don't look at me like that. It's a delightful mix of film screencaps, fashion, fantasmagorical shoes, and sexy people. You don't know it, but I took a ten second pause there to be distracted by the pictures of Tim Roth just chilling on the main page. Are you still here? I can't for the life of me understand why.

I hear my train a comin'

2010-06-25T15:48:00.002+01:00

I've spent the better part of the last three days taking a break from my (terribly unsuccessful) job hunt, riding around on trains.

That statement is not exactly accurate.

I've left follow-up messages and applied to another dozen or so establishments, but that's still a lot less than I'd been doing before.

Mostly because I've run out of places to apply.

Besides, all the trains have been taking me to visit friends.

On Wednesday, I met up with two friends from college and we went to the Museum of Natural History. I don't know what it is about the summer time that always makes me want to look at dead animals, but I see to be there a lot when the pollen count is high. I was so happy to see them that it was difficult to wipe the big, stupid grin off of my face, even when staring down a T-Rex. After the museum, I had to rush to my not-so-little cousin's graduation from middle school. It was hot as Hell in the auditorium, but I didn't care. I was such an embarrassing mush. I remember when you were thiiiiiiiis big.

Yesterday, I went down to see mah buddeh in Philadelphia. I'd seen him once (maybe twice?) since we started university and, while that is shameful beyond belief, it's still more than a lot of people. I mostly marveled at his most glorious apartment. It is glorious. And then we just chilled, which was nice. I kind of hate that word, but that's just what it was. There's a lot to be said for spending six hours doing nothing but laughing with an old friend. Of course, there was about ten minutes where we were running in the lashing rain, but we laughed almost the whole way through that, too. Serves us right for venturing out into the world.

I guess that brings us to today. I'm just about to head to the train station to meet up with my friend and her family at their house down the Shore. She is one of the few people that I was able to keep up steady contact with since high school, and I love this girl and her family to Pluto and back. I mean, I love all of my friends to a degree that borders on obsession, but whatever. I am crazy-excited. I predict much hugging and movie-watching. I can live in hope that we will build sandcastles for the sole purpose of violently destroying them.

ALSO, I have received absurdly glorious letters and packages in the post. They are glaring at me with their wondrousness because, while I have most of my letters written, I have failed to post them yet. My glitter reserves are low and I refuse to send any parcel which is not bursting with that shimmering nuisance. I have rules.

I'm coming up on finishing my fifth non-coursework book, so I've packed something vaguely related to college for this round of trains. I don't know when I became such a slow reader. It would be annoying if I had any deadlines. As I do not, I'm mostly just confused.

Sent the next round of stuff for Fringe the other day, so I'll let you know when it's up.

Stay cool!

Follower Love-Fest #8: Tam Tran

Tam Tran is a master basket-weaver. This is no joke. After winning the Basket World Challenge from 1999-2009, she holds the record for consecutive awards in the international competition.

When not practicing her craft, Tran likes to take strolls on Saturn's rings. She says that the rings smell like wood pulp and, thus, remind her of her childhood. She grew up a few doors down from a paper factory. She makes a mean beef stroganoff.

Meant to be a music post, buuuuut...

2010-06-21T04:34:00.003+01:00

...that's just not going to happen.

My first full day home, my parents and I saw Jeff Beck in concert.

It wasn't religious experience, but it was certainly better than any mass I've ever been to.

That man is magical. No lie.

Also, his opening act was a big surprise.

I almost died of excitement over seeing that legend and this sexy betch on the same night.

And then performing together.

My gushing would be intolerable were I to go on.

Trying to keep this in the vein of music schtuff. I'm seeing the Goo Goo Dolls in two weeks.

I know that this will do nothing for my street cred, but I love these guys and I will not apologize.

The only thing that upsets me is Johnny's plastic surgery.

I mean, with his bone structure and highlights, he was the man of my nine-year-old self's dreams.

WHYYYYYYY?

I'm not sure my achy breaky heart is going to be able to cope with seeing my pre-teen dreamboat so low.

Let's console ourselves, dear readers, with those who have aged well.

Really well.

Get out of my dreams, and into my car.

Well, we all saw this one coming.

Where are you hiding, Thora? Your public misses you!

In fairness, he was thirty when he played Cameron.

And, for my own personal delight, please note how much RDJ looks like a young Ezra Pound when he rocks that skeazy facial hair.

Follower Love-Fest #7: Lodi

Huzzah for a profile I can actually get to! Not that I need one, as I've been on this lovely laydeeee's blog quite a few times, creeping like it's going out of style. That wasn't meant to be some kind of pun/joke thang because she writes a style blog, but there you go. It happened. All the same, I often want to kill her and steal her clothes and garden, but then there would be no more blog or Lodi and I would be very sad. Also, I'd be in jail, and I just couldn't cut it in the clink. What I am getting at is that you should check her out. And marvel at her hair.

In the spirit of this post being all over the place, HAPPY FATHERS' DAY (even though it was technically yesterday)!

Home.

2010-06-17T23:02:00.004+01:00

I forgot what humidity was until I got home.

My hair's not a fan, but I really like it when there's so much water in the air that you never quite feel dry. It's kind of like a security blanket.

For the past three days I've been waking up to chirping birds and rustling leaves and all of those stereotypical summer sounds.

My favourite, though, is the sound the plaster and wood of the walls make as the sun heats everything up. They groan and knock on all sides of every room.

It's not subtle either. I think that these sort of hazy descriptions are supposed to be more part of the scenery, but the creaks are loud and don't stop until I get out of bed to start the day.

Actually, they don't stop until nighttime, and then it's time for cicadas.

I miss college and everyone there already. Still, I am glad to be home.

I haven't seen any of my friends yet, but that will change in a few hours when people come over for pizza and movies.

FearNet is a distinct possibility. Awwwww yeah.

Vair, vair excited, even though I've been running around on the job hunt all day, everyday since I arrived back and have failed miserably at reestablishing any form of a sleep schedule.

Oh, and the Internet has contacted me.

Time to call Will Smith.

What else, what else?

Went to a concert with my parents, but that's for another time.

Because I am le tired.

And I'm watching The African Queen.

I love this movie way too much, and not just because of Humphrey Bogart.

Well, he doesn't hurt.

Um. My new Fringe post is up. I'm doing some ~research~ for the next one.

That was my attempt at creating suspense.

Aaaaaaaanyway...

Follower Love-Fest #6: Chelsey

Okay, I'm pretty sure that this whole not-being-able-to-click-through-to-profiles problem comes from my own poor understanding of technology. Every time this happens, I'm just going to make up things about my beautiful readers. And then I'll have to go to confession for lying. Or something.

Chelsey and I met on a cruise to Barbados. Originally, the trip was meant to have gone to Alaska, but there was a sudden tax on Bugles that year. The ship's captain, a big fan of the salty treats, had quite a stock on board and refused to pay the tax on principle. So, we changed course. The two of us met while trading our jumpers for sundresses when we docked. We've been pals ever since.

Bad habits.

2010-06-10T22:21:00.004+01:00

I've always had a few.

I bite my nails, chew my lips, crack my knuckles, play with my head (the whole thing) when I'm sleepy, and fidget.

Thank God I never actually went to cotillion, or the the instructor would have likely been arrested for attempting to beat these most unladylike qualities out of me.

And I just couldn't deal with the guilt.

My newest habit is leaving the updating of this blog for too long, and then falling behind on reading as well.

Shameful.

Quick recap:

-I'm twenty. Icky, but I think I'll get by.

-My parents came over and good times were had, as predicted. We went on a family trip and it was amazing and I can't wait to see them again in a few days.

-I'm going between packing, cleaning, editing photos from the trip, and taking spontaneous naps right now.

-My last Fringe post was lost in the Internet, due to my own position as a spaz, but it's up now. So, that's cool, even though I felt awful for mucking things up.

-Mah buddeh took a five hour bus ride to visit me and I am so not worthy of her gloriousness. Where are Wayne and Garth when you need them?

Nevermind. I found them.

-Trying to get my act together in a big, bad way. I WILL READ YOUR BLOGS. Note the use of CAPS.

Follower Love-Fest #5: KLH

Okay, I'm going to be honest with you, kids. As with the first batch of lovely people, I can't click through to this young lady's profile. I hope she won't consider it libel if I just make things up. KLH's hair smells like fresh strawberries. She once made a cookie-pie big enough to feed all of the kindergardeners in her school district, and hand-delivered the slices to the twelve kids who were out sick with the chicken pox that day. Professor Utonium is her real dad.

And, just so you know, it's Judy Garland's birthday. I love this woman. Celebrating with a PB&J for dinner.

Happy birthday, Ms. Garland.

FDR, forever. I gotchu, girrrrrrl.

I couldn't avoid it if I wanted to, so just deal.

LOVE!

Just about twenty.

2010-05-20T02:37:00.003+01:00

According to my clock, I've been twenty for almost three hours. No changes to report yet.

Some might say that this is because turning twenty isn't a big deal/time is relative/it's all a bunch of overblown poppycock.

I say that it's because I was born in a different time zone, and not at the stroke of midnight. In my books, I am still nineTEEN. Because I am nineTEEN, I am still allowed to capitalize portions of my words which would not otherwise be capitalized.

I am also allowed to tell you that I am up at this hour because I am super-excited that my parents will be here in four hours. I know it's not cool to get on with your parents, but I adore mine.

Yeah. I said it. And now, here's a picture of us all. Sort of.

They are somewhere over the Atlantic right now, watching episodes of The Big Bang Theory if I know my dad well.

Which I think I do.

Mama's more likely to be trying to sleep, then giving up and watching a film. How do I know? I just know, mmkay?

NEWSFLASH: The wind just slipped one of the locks on the front door, blew it open, and slammed it. Hard. The house shook. Scary bananas.

Anyway, I'm really excited. Not just because my heart rate is up now. Because I will see my folks for the first time since Christmas, and then they'll meet some of my friends, and there will be good times.

Follower Love-Fest #4: Katrin

Katrin is the bilingual babe behind reizende Rundungen. Hell, she might speak more languages because she's that great, but I just don't know. She has a seemingly endless army of cute clothes, especially dresses, but that's not the only reason I love this girl. It also has nothing to do with her glorious hair, or the fact that she got a kiss from Beth Ditto. These thing certainly don't hurt, but it's how her entries always make me smile. She's is funny, and strong, and I want to high five her constantly.

Still nineTEEN. Still allowed to have dance parties with Batman.

Second Year: Complete

2010-05-14T23:16:00.005+01:00

I took my last exam yesterday morning and I still can't believe it.

At this very moment, I am half-way through my degree.

And next week I will be twenty.

Ew. This makes me feel that I ought to be doing all sorts of adult-type things. Ew

I've been sending out a dizzying number of e-mails, begging for work, but responses have been less than promising.

I sent my latest 'assignment' for Fringe a few days ago, so I'll let you all know how that goes.

So, until I get any responses from potential employers which don't begin with 'Thank you for you interest, but...' I've been effectively wasting time on Polyvore.

Haven't heard that word in a while.

Imagining outfits for romanticized versions of your possible-future-jobs is the first step toward actually getting said job, right?

Soap-Slinger by Liz OT featuring Naturalizer shoes

Items in this set:
- New Age & Spiritual Gifts at Pyramid Collection, $120
Naturalizer Boyer, $59
Jade Crystal Dots Resin Bangle, 40 EUR
Deena & Ozzy Tiny Straw Hat, $28
Coppertone - WaterBabies Sunscreen Lotion SPF50 236ml, $18

There is a chance that I might be working for a small company in my town which makes its own soaps and candles. While I understand that it is unlikely that my job would consist of delivering delightful bundles of scented glory in the manner of Kiki's Delivery Service, a girl can dream. Even in my daydreams I am aware of the danger the sun's rays pose to my pasty self. Ouch.

Country Clubbin' by Liz OT featuring Arden B tops

Items in this set:
Tie Waist Ruffle Front Blouse - Women's Clothing and Apparel - Chic..., $49
Balenciaga Button front skirt, 335 GBP
Kat Maconie Blaize Nude Patent Pumps, 95 GBP
Alex Monroe Gold Hummingbird Necklace, 110 GBP
Loop Knot Headband, $16

More promising is the prospect of working at one of the local country clubs. I have no idea which positions, if any, are available (Towel Girl, Cabana Chick, Caddy), but I do know that my usual taste for mad prints and sundress would not go over well. If those shoes are in my possession, that's fine.

Happy Camper by Liz OT featuring Old Navy dresses

Items in this set:
Old Navy Womens Ruffled Jersey Cabana Dresses, $15
Knitted Pointelle Cardigan, $75
Duck Face Toe Ankle Socks, $6
CHUCK TAYLOR ALL STARS, 54 GBP
MARC BY MARC JACOBS Round Enamel Case Watch, $175

I've heard nothing back from the educational camps at the community college, but this situation would be ideal. I can't think of a better way to spend eight hours than hanging out with and teaching creative kids. Plus, I love making macaroni fish.

Pagemaster by Liz OT featuring Fly LONDON shoes

Items in this set:
Watermelon Delight Dress, $88
Joy :: Womenswear :: Knitwear :: Louche Essentials Boyfriend Cardigan, 29 GBP
Amazon.com: FLY London Women's Ikon T-Strap Pump: Shoes, $315
Token bags - Sheridan Bag-Large Dark Brown, $240
sniffty scented pen set, $12

Pretty sure working in the town library doesn't pay, but I just don't care. Unlimited access to books (though I hear you're not allowed to read them when you're on duty) and an excuse to expand my cardigan collection are reasons enough.

Free Bird by Liz OT featuring Steve Madden shoes

Items in this set:
Chrysalis Dress, $60
Steve Madden - Women's Flats, $80
Noah Love Birds Clutch- eBags.com, $110
SMALL VINTAGE RESIN PANSY POST EARRINGS, $32
American Eagle AE Women's Skinny Multi Braid Belt Brown, $20

Could be doing some freelance work for an artists and artisans group. In this fantasy, I am trusted with sexy cameras and a press pass so that I can get in and get the story, or whatever it is that the job entails.

Babysitter by Liz OT featuring Converse shoes

Items in this set:
Old Navy Boys DC Comics Superhero Hoodies, $15
Basic Mid Scoop Tee, $2.50
Bullhead Shorts - Womens - Vintage Cut Off Short, $37
Converse All Star Slim Leather Athletic Shoe, Black, at Journeys Shoes, $65
Crayola Color Bath Dropz - 3 Pack - Crayola - Babies "R" Us, $11

The ol' standby. Last summer the recession had people tightening their belts so much that they wouldn't even hire teenagers to watch their youngsters for a night of freedom. Here's hoping that will change this year if nothing else pops up. I'm good with kids. LET ME WATCH THEM. I can cook, clean, change diapers, teach arithmetic, give anti-drug lectures, build a better mousetrap--whatever you need, Parents of America.

A Likely Story by Liz OT featuring Deena & Ozzy sandals

Items in this set:
Miso Floral Eyelet Dress, 23 GBP
Deena & Ozzy Crisscross Slingback Sandal, $38
Large Linen Suitacase, 120 GBP
Librarian-Inspired Spring Fashion
Monkey Yellow Hooded Towel, $36

What will probably happen is that, as ever, I won't find work. Three and a half months will be spent swimming at the beach, reading, getting caught up on a year's worth of TV, and reorganizing my house room-by-room. This pleasant, though financially depressing, life of languor will be interspersed with trips to visit friends working in Boston, Washington, and Philadephia. I'll be selling my worldly possessions on the internet to generate gas money. Yee-haw!

Follower Love-Fest #4: Geri

After a short break--during which she was missed immensely--this lovely lady is back to blogging at Lovely as a Car.ous.ill. Whether it's hilarious YouTube videos, new music, or photos from her daily goings-ons, no entry comes without a smile for the reader. She is also a girl who understands the magic and importance of sparkly nail polish. That counts as a virtue way more than Patience does. If you're in the mood to salivate madly, then her food blog, edu.plate, is for you. :D

'You're not such a bad volcano, Eyjafjallajokull.'

2010-05-03T00:21:00.004+01:00

I am halfway done with exams now and it feels pretty damn good. I'm still in a Panic Mode of sorts, but nothing that can't be managed with tea.

And this guy.

I think that Josh Ritter is one of the greatest musical artists of whatever you would call the time period we're living in now. This is not going to devolve into a creepy love letter about how he is the voice of our age or any of that other mawkish bullshit. But I really adore his music and he just seems like a lovely person. Not a god. Not a prophet. A talented artist and a decent human being (a Good Man, you might say--har har) and his music has made my world a more enjoyable place to live. Be prepared for a lot of links and embedded songs.

My only beef with him has been that he has always had the inability to be in the same place as me when he is performing. As in, less than a week after I flew back to Dublin he played twenty minutes from my home in New Jersey. Similar instances have occurred--on both sides of that infernal ocean--for the better part of five years. This past Tuesday, all that changed.

Did I care that the venue wasn't built when I bought the tickets? Nope.

Did I care that the concert was the sandwiched between two exams, one being at 9:30 the next morning? No way.

Did I care that the tickets were well out of my price range and I knew that I would probably wind up stuck with extras when my more sensible friends couldn't go because of the exam schedule? Not in the least.

And I regret nothing.

Correction: I regret assuming that I wouldn't be allowed to bring my camera in, leaving it, and then spending the concert hating every flashbulb that went off.

Back to the concert. It was amazing. I am using short-ish sentences and words to contain my overflowing joy at the memory of it.

First off, we were a couple of minutes late getting in for the opening act, which we all felt awful about because he great. It could be argued that I'm just a sucker for 'that kind of music', and I wouldn't fight back. It's true. Anyway, his name is Joe Pug and he is tops.

Mr. Ritter and the band were fantastic. It is not a matter of debate or opinion. Every member played wonderfully and they all seemed to be having such a great time that you couldn't help but smile through the whole performance. I am actually typing this with a huge smile on my face and I probably sound like a gushing idiot. Don't care.

The most energetic and giddy-energy-inducing number was definitely this baybeh.

So much of his music is melodic and close that the livelier songs like this are startling in the most pleasant of ways.

He also played one of my favourite songs, Harrisburg, which definitely needs to be experienced live. Wow. That's a douchey thing to say. What I mean is that it's one of those songs which is wonderfully strong, but has a flexibility in it for the best kind of ad libbing, if you can say that with music.

Kind of selfish on our part, but it makes the audience feel special.

A fair portion of the night was songs off of his new album, and that is not a complaint. So Runs the World Away is nothing short of an achievement and I'd be lying if I said it has not been racking up a significant play count on my iTunes. Overused as the phrase is, I'm in no headspace to think of a better one to describe The Curse than 'hauntingly beautiful'. It is that. Simply.

The amazing thing about the performance, especially this song, is that it was scarcely a performance at all. A talented songwriter and singer though he is, Ritter is not much of a showman. The audience is undoubtedly entertained and, more than that, enthralled while he and the band are playing, but he doesn't have the gaudy, pleading insistence of a showman, which I really appreciate. When he sang this song, though, he grew kind of stiff and curled into himself, his movements laboured and slow, like those of a mummy in a silent film. Not frightening or comical, but just right.

The rendition of In the Dark was done in silence. The band left the stage, all of the instruments were turned off, he stepped away from the microphones, and just filled the theatre with his voice.

Okay. I think I should cut myself off here. You get the picture. I had a fanfuckingtastic time and hope that it won't be too long before I can see him again.

Website: JoshRitter.com

Blog: Book of Jubilations

New CD: So Runs the World Away (Not out until the fourth in America.)

Oh, and he did dedicate a song to everyone's favourite plane-stopping volcano.

Follower Love Fest #3: Lillian Boren

What can I say about Lillian? More importantly, what can't I say? She knits the the best fake stoles this side of the International Date Line. She is a really talented gal. Not just a master in the art of wielding big fucking needles, she has fabulous hair, a contagious smile, and enough cardigans to start a family/kill a horse/sell water to a drowning man. And the wit on her. I've gotten many a dirty look in the library while trying to hold in teh lulz that she provokes in her entries at L is for Lillian. You should head there while supplies last!

There will be no capering nimbly.

2010-04-26T17:00:00.009+01:00

I am now blogging for Fringe, sort of. I put that 'sort of' there because is one of the coolest things to happen to me in recent memory and I'm really nervous about jinxing it. Anyway, my first write up is here and it makes me smile

My first exam is in five hours.

No, I am not panicking.

Yes, that was a lie.

I've gotten to the point where I hoard any books that seem relevant to my needs and use them to make a fort around me. When I get around to figuring our which ones are actually worth anything to me I have to bring the rest back, shuffling around like Richard III.

Yes, that's what I'm studying.

I could use this as practice for getting all of my (uninformed and unoriginal) ideas out there, but I'll save my word-vomit for this afternoon.

Instead, let us take this time to appreciate how sexy Ian McKellen is as Richard. We are ignoring the fact that McKellen doesn't like girls, is much older, and that Richard is a creeper of the highest calibre.

Oh, and RDJ has a slight role in this film version, for those who don't appreciate McKellen's obvious appeal.

You should be converted now.

Follower Love-Fest #2 : V. SIRIN

I'll be honest, I don't know a whole lot about the saint vitus blogger, but what I do know is enough. She makes delicious-looking (and, I'm sure, -tasting) pies and is shares my talent for chronically destroying the elbows of sweaters. She is also a brilliant artist who creates images combining gorgeous lines and startling attention to detail.

Now, back to panicking.

Annnnnd we're back. For real this time.

2010-04-23T19:08:00.004+01:00

Mortimer lives, and let us rejoice!

He might have a screwy CD drive now, but that will be sorted out by the start of next week. IhopeIhopeIhope.

Life is pretty good. I mean, I'm in a state of panic about exams, but nothing that some awesome video messages from home and a lovely friend's insistence on making me dinner can't cure.

Do you know what's crazy? The fact that I have twenty-five followers. That means that I now how as many followers as I do entries. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it certainly has me excited. In honour of that, my new plan is to end every entry with a little blurb on why one of my followers is awesome. This will be an imperfect plan, as it seems that some of my followers are just pixellated silhouettes. It doesn't mean that I love them any less, but it does mean that I can't see their profiles. So, in advance, let me just say that I really, really, really, really love Erin, Stephy, Cassie, and Laura. They're super-foxy.

But this entry ain't over yet.

First, the big news. Well, big to me.

I'm going to be writing for Fringe Magazine's blog. I just e-mailed them my first 'assignment' and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't stupidly giddy.

If you're not familiar with Fringe, click it and educate yourself.

And please read that last sentence in Pleakley's voice.

It's just a really great collection of art and writing that wouldn't otherwise make it to the general public. And all the cool kids are reading it while they wear their Sketchers and write notes with Milky Pens. Those things are still hip, right?

And now,

Follower Love-Fest #1: TRICIA

Tricia is the babe behind Stop the world, I wanna get on!. When she's not being a professional sexpot, Tricia is bringing the world of fantastical world of polar bear cork boards, beautiful nail polishes, and the bleu cheese crisis in Lithuania. One of those might not be entirely true. What I'm trying to say is that Tricia is the bee's knees.

___

Just got a text that it's dinner time, so I'm out like Scout.

Zombie Jesus Day!

2010-04-04T18:05:00.006+01:00

I failed to go to church, make brunch, or dye eggs this year.

Between the assumed --unless I'm told that he can make a recovery on Tuesday--death of Mortimer, college, and a rather startling arrangement of personal problems, I just couldn't find the time to get into the manic groove that all commercially-endorsed holidays bring out in me.

My housemates have been beyond beyond the past couple of days.

Sure, we're living in a rather disgusting structure, comprised of dirty dishes, newspapers, breadcrumbs, and ants, all posing as a house, but it's kind of nice.

Until the other day, I hadn't seen most of my loves in a week. Some I still haven't seen.

We gots the looooove, though.

When I came home a sleep-deprived mess (six hours' sleep, spread over four days is apparently not enough for a functioning human being), two of my housemates were sitting, watching Glee and eating homemade lemon muffins.

They listened to me rant, then we hugged, ate the deliciousness, and I finally succumbed to Glee's awesome power.

I repeat, 'awesome'.

Right now, I'm waiting for the call from home when the phone will be passed around to every available relative and we will scream love at each other.

Also contemplating whether or not it's worth it to finish an essay which I will probably be failed for anyway.

Either way, I am running off to the shop to see if there is any chocolate left for me to sneakily hide in my housemate's pillows.

Final note: I hope you're all full of love and chocolate/roast/Peeps/whatever you gave up for Lent, if you did. But mostly love. For tradition's sake, I give you

'I'm in the depths of despair.'

2010-03-29T17:27:00.004+01:00

A little dramatic, but thank you, Anne.
Sorry that I haven't been updating or reading much lately, but essays are due on Thursday and then it's exam time.
And there's the small matter of my scientific discovery that that laptops don't very much care for carrot juice.
Mortimer the Mac has very likely gone to that IT desk in the sky.
So, I'm sort of screwed.
Fingers crossed that I get these essays done without having to sell my soul...Again.

Hope you're all keeping well!

BRB, reading Tennyson in the woods to avoid my life.

The Baaaaall

2010-03-19T15:17:00.004Z

Okay, I snagged a few photos off of some friends and will now be flinging them at all of you lovelies. I totally want to show how how sexy my friends looked in their costumes (I mean, I think I'm surrounded by some pretty foooiiiine people every day, but in their formal wear--awwww yeah), though I don't want to freak them out with the idea of their pictures being all over the ol' WWW. So I'll just post a few.

First, proof that we were, in fact, on a boat.

Loveliest person I know and myself before the ball. I think that she looks fucking fabulous in the wig, as did everyone else, but she's just not having it.

Is she wrong, or is she wrong?

Two of my other totally foxy friends, partying like it's 1928. Words are not enough to convey the levels of badass achieved here.

I don't really know this kid, but he seems nice enough and we share far too many mutual friends for me to assume him anything other than awesome. Also, this is the only photo in which I am not making a ridiculous face.

More of my beloveds looking schweet.

The band. They came on at around 8:30 and didn't stop until we all had to leave the boat. In short, they were gods.

A friend and myself failing to get the attention of the barman at the afterparty. I don't know who took this picture, actually, but I do appreciate them giving a shot of my shoes.

Now, get out there and enjoy your Fridays, beautiful people!

Happy St. Patrick's Day, kids!

2010-03-17T13:21:00.004Z

I will gush about the ball once more in another post.

Today, however, is Paddy's Day and needs its own internetzing.

Since I promised my mama I wouldn't dye my hair any outlandish colours again, my greenery (hah) is confined to my nails. Certainly not classy brands, but green and glittery are always en vogue, yes?

One of my housemates may have sold himself into slavery last night, as he was paid 30e to spend the night in a hotel and push a float in the parade today. We shall see.

After wading through oceans of drunk children last year, I've decided to stay as far away from the parade as possible.

I'm running off to go to a celebratory barbeque at some friends' house, where we will have a bird's-eye view of the mess that is Temple Bar.

Afterward, another friends (and quite possibly the loveliest person I know) is making me dinner. We shall then watch The Three Amigos and possibly Mystery Men. Do you remember this gem? I didn't, and I am currently basking in its rediscovered glory.

Observe the extended opening scene with my love. (Not the only reason I'm loving it, as I had no idea who he was when the film came out. 'Bonus.')

Not going to lie, I'll probably have another post dedicated entirely to this film, complete with some loose attempts to call it studying.

The prospect of heading into City Centre right now is terrifying. Wish me luck.

About this ball thing.

2010-03-15T09:51:00.006Z

Tonight is the ball!

As of right now, I have no dress, montage music, or army of rodent seamstresses, but I'm not worried.

It is perfectly acceptable to skip one's first lecture of the day if it's in pursuit of a dress.

Right?

Anyway, I'm off to find the magical dress of my dreams.

And, yes, I've only painted the nails on one hand.

Hope you're all having a lovely Monday/had a great weekend!

Update: The ball was at least twenty-eight trillion kinds of amazing. Everyone looked gorgeous and just gahhhhhhhhhh. So good. My camera is too big to bring to these things, but I will be more than happy to steal some from my friends' photos once they're sorted.

This was my dress, which I got for more than half off. Hell to the yes, TKMaxx!

I wound up completely ignoring the theme, shy of my feathers and makeup, but that's fiiiiiine.

Nothing better than Photobooth pictures for now, I'm afraid.

And these shoes.

As much as I love these babies, dancing for six hours nonstop has killed my tootsies.

The music was not right for the decade, but it was glorious. When Minnie the Moocher came on, I pretty much lost my mind.

Love!

Belle of the ball...

2010-03-05T00:51:00.004Z

Exciting news, folks. The History & Humanities Ball at my university is coming up. That means I get to get all gussied up and dance madly with my friends.

Did I mention that it's going to be on a boat? It's going to be on a boat.

It's also going to be 1920's themed.

Let's review: crazy dancing on a boat with friends, dressed like we're all up in that Lost Generation.

That last bit is where I must give pause. Yes, I was an unimaginative flapper for the Halloween before last. Yes, I do love me some jazz and cheap liquor. Yes, I will use any excuse to wear red lipstick and feathers. Despite all of these, though, I'm just not Twenties material.

The Twenties were a time for drop-waists and short hair. The aesthetic is fine, but I'm no Colleen Moore or Louise Brooks.

Case -

Image through Google/Lolita's Classics.

Image through Google.

Point -

That is, in fact, always how my face looks.

The decades on either side of this most favoured one would suit most of us fine, with their defined waistlines and versatile fits. What are the big-haired, non-gamine among us to do? Turn to Polyvore. Yes, again.

Blogger's Note: My new addiction to this site is in no way related to the bleakness of my current reading material. Not at all.

These are for two of my lovely friends with similar issues, concerning the ball.

All That Jazz by Liz OT featuring Chie Mihara shoes

Items in this set:
Two Tone Lace Dress - UTTAM Direct, 40 GBP
Chie Mihara Atom Mary Janes, $210
Vintage Small Velvet Embellished Clutch, 85 GBP
Rose and feather fascinator, 63 GBP
ASOS | at ASOS Grey Jewelled Fabric Tie Back Belt, $27

Let's Do It by Liz OT featuring Forever21 accessories

Items in this set:
Yumi Lace Pearl Tunic Dress, 58 GBP
Silk Stockings - Erotic Lingerie - Coco de Mer - Coco de Mer Erotic...
Kimchi Blue Linen T-Strap Flat, $28
Mini Frame Florist Black Satin Purse, 55 GBP
Feathered Hair Clip, $7.80

And for me.

Yes, Sir! That's My Baby by Liz OT featuring Monsoon dresses

Items in this set:
Monsoon Accessorize - Fusion Dresses, 75 GBP
Contrast Seam Tights, $18
Kimchi Blue Patent T-Strap Skimmer, $28
ShopCurious - ShopCurious - Vintage filigree silver card..., 135 GBP
5 row pearl bracelet, 7 GBP

Whatever happens, I'll still be dancing on a boat and screaming Fitzgerald at anyone and everyone in the vicinity. Count on it.

Taking things too far.

2010-03-03T00:26:00.006Z

'So, you're returning The Maltese Falcon and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes so that you can read Paradise Alley.'

'Yeah.'

'I just wanted to make sure that you understand.'

Sometimes my housemates despair of me.

You may recall that I found a new favourite bad film in Sylvester Stallone's Paradise Alley. Not only do I now own it, I've inflicted it upon one of my friends. After she made it through, we scrambled to find the book that started it all. There are plenty of copies of it on Amazon, but we then remembered that our university has a copyright library.

What the hell does that mean? It means that our library has a copy of every book published in the UK for the last Godknowshowmany years. Given, I had to special-order it out of Stacks, and I could only read it in the library, but read it I did. And it was weird.

Mostly, it was awful. Stale dialogue, bland descriptions, and a formulaic plot. Each chapter is a scene from the film, so Sly probably knew he'd be throwing this baby on celluloid. It would be easy to just end it at that, but that would really not be doing justice to what is something of an experience.

One of the more striking aspects of the book is the fact that it has pictures. Not too many and no pop-ups or anything, just these ink jobs by Tom Wright. They're all dark and grainy and slightly off, so of course I loved them. Only example I could find is this.

Stallone does some interesting things with punctuation and line breaks. For the most part, the narration is basic and fairly boring, broken up by stylized dialogue whenever characters speak. Occasionally, though, something like this pops up:

Victor counted his meager salary and smiled at the foreman. But,

Victor's eyes no longer,

Smiled.

Chapter Thirty Four, page 143

It's actually like poetry. I refuse to go off on any tangents of literary criticism because I think all of that is bullshit, but the playful structuring is really fun, if nothing else.

Pictures and funny punctuation are not the only things that kept me reading, though. There is a general image of Stallone as a mumbling, muscle-bound moron, which is completely false. The man is a member of MENSA and, quite literally, a genius. Despite Paradise Alley's monotony of drab writing, there are definite moments when I sat up straight to read a sentence again, such as when Annie sees a 'building that looked like it was trying to find a quiet way to crumble' (Chapter Ten, page 64).

Perhaps you're not convinced. That's fine because I'm not trying to convince you. All I'm after is conveying what a strange ride this book is. More often than not, it reads like it's Stallone's journal when he was drafting the screenplay. With sections like,

The phony soldier was Cosmo Carboni and he was Victor's older brother, and was no masterpiece of kindness.

He had a medium skeleton.

Well, maybe not medium.

But odd.

No, odd is the wrong word.

Cosmo Carboni was an angular piece of hustling machinery bent into the form of a man...

Chapter Two, page 16

I'm not entirely convinced that it's not.

Either way, I think I really enjoyed it.

To make this slightly cooler, I combined my obsession with this beast and my new addiction to Polyvore. What would I wear to be an extra in this classic? Something equal parts gaudy and sentimental.

Paradise Alley by Liz OT featuring Jigsaw dresses

Items in this set:
Silk Satin Faggotting Dress, 160 GBP
ASOS Nude Back Seam Sheer Tights, $14
Suede pumps, $455
ASOS BLACK Deco Pod Across Body Bag, $37
Tasha Sinamay Flower Hair Clip, $38

Play me out, Tom.

Reading week, so far.

2010-03-02T19:12:00.003Z

Well, I was away for a magical weekend at my friend's house in Clare. Five of us (okay, six with me)went for fresh air, over-eating, and general shenaniganry. It was glorious. No pictures of that yet, though, because I just got back last night and am lazy. It's my week off from classes so that we can get caught up on the work they know we haven't been doing the whole time.

To keep up the tradition of not working when I should, today I cleaned, went grocery shopping, and sent e-mails to another 48768658239 summer camps.

Before this week, instead of working, I wrote a fuckton of letters to people whose birthdays I missed/I haven't seen in a while. Postage was a bit of a pain on the packages, but it was totally worth it. I love writing letters, and this made me kind of wriggle in my bed while listening to The Princess and the Frog soundtrack.

Maybe that's not something you're meant to admit. Oops.

Carrying these into town with my other bag of books was something like fun. Well, I do love peeling stamps.

Look--glitter! Where could half of the bottle have gone?

Oh, right. Glitter is the language of love.

Meet Charlie, the newest member of the family. He likes water, sunshine, Cool Ranch Doritos, and showtunes. His turn-offs include bottled water, hail, fedoras, and frayed shoelaces. He's single, too.

Trying to get better

2010-02-24T15:06:00.005Z

...at posting in something resembling a timely fashion. Next week is my reading week (no tutorials!), so expect all sorts of garbage from yours truly. When I'm not knee-deep in my favourite volume of Post-Colonial criticism, of course.

Right now, I just want to do a quick post about a charity that my former high school is running.

SDA Operation: Prom Dress is not a new idea, but it is a very nice one all the same. We're collecting donations of any and all prom gear for the girls of Hudson County who can't afford the luxury of prom night on their own. While whether or not girls go to their proms is not a story that will make headlines, prom night is an experience that most wouldn't want to be denied. Getting cooperation has been slightly more difficult than originally anticipated, but here's what I've collected so far.

I'm not going to demand, dear readers, that you ship ballgowns to a high school in New Jersey. This just brightens my day because I enjoy when people are nice to one another for the purpose of being nice, and I want to hear about things that have made you happy recently.

Or, tell me about your prom. Was it amazing? Awful? What did you wear? Do you have any baking recipes for those of us who can't effectively use measuring cups?

Chacha now, y'all!

Obligatory Valentine's Day Entry

2010-02-14T22:08:00.007Z

Don't let the title fool you, ladies and gentlemen--unlike most people, I quite love Valentine's Day.

I spend most days of the year trying to convince people that they don't need to earn love or nice things, that goodness should just come to them because they are people and we are not put on this earth to suffer.

More often than not, though, my particular worldview is not shared or accepted.

Today is a genuinely consumeristblahblahblah day which nobody seems to enjoy, regardless of their relationship status.

It does, however, give me an opportunity to send that extra blast of love-spores (Sperm imagery, I know. Just bear with me.) into the world without fear of being thought a creep.

So what if I have to endure a few eye rolls and cynical sighs?

Whether they like to admit it or not, everyone likes being reminded that they are loved, and I am okay with being the one who gently tugs on their shirttails to do so.

And, now, a poetic interlude from Mr. Kenneth Rexroth with one of my favourite poems. In fact, it is the one from which this silly little blog gets it's name. Photos by lberto Polo Iañez.

When We with Sappho

“. . . about the cool water
the wind sounds through sprays
of apple, and from the quivering leaves
slumber pours down . . .”

We lie here in the bee filled, ruinous
Orchard of a decayed New England farm,
Summer in our hair, and the smell
Of summer in our twined bodies,
Summer in our mouths, and summer
In the luminous, fragmentary words
Of this dead Greek woman.
Stop reading. Lean back. Give me your mouth.
Your grace is as beautiful as sleep.
You move against me like a wave
That moves in sleep.
Your body spreads across my brain
Like a bird filled summer;
Not like a body, not like a separate thing,
But like a nimbus that hovers
Over every other thing in all the world.
Lean back. You are beautiful,
As beautiful as the folding
Of your hands in sleep.
We have grown old in the afternoon.
Here in our orchard we are as old
As she is now, wherever dissipate
In that distant sea her gleaming dust
Flashes in the wave crest
Or stains the murex shell.
All about us the old farm subsides
Into the honey bearing chaos of high summer.
In those far islands the temples
Have fallen away, and the marble
Is the color of wild honey.
There is nothing left of the gardens
That were once about them, of the fat
Turf marked with cloven hooves.
Only the sea grass struggles
Over the crumbled stone,
Over the splintered steps,
Only the blue and yellow
Of the sea, and the cliffs
Red in the distance across the bay.
Lean back.
Her memory has passed to our lips now.
Our kisses fall through summer’s chaos
In our own breasts and thighs.
Gold colossal domes of cumulus cloud
Lift over the undulant, sibilant forest.
The air presses against the earth.
Thunder breaks over the mountains.
Far off, over the Adirondacks,
Lightning quivers, almost invisible
In the bright sky, violet against
The grey, deep shadows of the bellied clouds.
The sweet virile hair of thunder storms
Brushes over the swelling horizon.
Take off your shoes and stockings.
I will kiss your sweet legs and feet
As they lie half buried in the tangle
Of rank scented midsummer flowers.
Take off your clothes. I will press
Your summer honeyed flesh into the hot
Soil, into the crushed, acrid herbage
Of midsummer. Let your body sink
Like honey through the hot
Granular fingers of summer.
Rest. Wait. We have enough for a while.
Kiss me with your mouth
Wet and ragged, your mouth that tastes
Of my own flesh. Read to me again
The twisting music of that language
That is of all others, itself a work of art.
Read again those isolate, poignant words
Saved by ancient grammarians
To illustrate the conjugations
And declensions of the more ancient dead.
Lean back in the curve of my body,
Press your bruised shoulders against
The damp hair of my body.
Kiss me again. Think, sweet linguist,
In this world the ablative is impossible.
No other one will help us here.
We must help ourselves to each other.
The wind walks slowly away from the storm;
Veers on the wooded crests; sounds
In the valleys. Here we are isolate,
One with the other; and beyond
This orchard lies isolation,
The isolation of all the world.
Never let anything intrude
On the isolation of this day,
These words, isolate on dead tongues,
This orchard, hidden from fact and history,
These shadows, blended in the summer light,
Together isolate beyond the world’s reciprocity.
Do not talk any more. Do not speak.
Do not break silence until
We are weary of each other.
Let our fingers run like steel
Carving the contours of our bodies’ gold.
Do not speak. My face sinks
In the clotted summer of your hair.
The sound of the bees stops.
Stillness falls like a cloud.
Be still. Let your body fall away
Into the awe filled silence
Of the fulfilled summer —
Back, back, infinitely away —
Our lips weak, faint with stillness.
See. The sun has fallen away.
Now there are amber
Long lights on the shattered
Boles of the ancient apple trees.
Our bodies move to each other
As bodies move in sleep;
At once filled and exhausted,
As the summer moves to autumn,
As we, with Sappho, move towards death.
My eyelids sink toward sleep in the hot
Autumn of your uncoiled hair.
Your body moves in my arms
On the verge of sleep;
And it is as though I held
In my arms the bird filled
Evening sky of summer.

'You have work. We get it.'

2010-02-07T23:31:00.006Z

I assume that's what you lovelies are thinking every time I mention this essay or that exam.

Fear not--they're all over!

Well, until March, but who cares about that silly old month?

The answer: Not Liz.

Last week I handed in my last essay for that term. Even with two extensions and several all-nighters, it was not my best work by several thousand miles. It will not wow my deliciously dorky tutor to the point where he would like to discuss it over several glasses of wine, but it might upset him so much that we have to explore over several cups of tea what made it such a disaster. Either one of those is fine with me.

When it was all done and handed in, I took the long way home. Meaning, I stopped in every charity shop and bakery on my way home. At one of said bakeries, my delirious state of mind had me convinced that a mountain of croissants was exactly what I needed in my life to rid it of the stain of Chaucer's use of narrative devices. Don't worry. I thought better of it and got the most delicious lemon tart of my life instead. No pictures because it quickly found it's way into my tummy.

That's not to say that I didn't make any other ridiculous impulse buys.

We've not stopped playing since I brought this home.

For a Euro, you wouldn't have said 'No' either, so don't even play.

Weird, beady hat? Maybe not the best choice I made.

A far better grab was this beauty. Just under a fiver may be a bit steep for a charity shop, but I have a remarkably large head and I never find non-knitted hats to fit it. I think it's pretty schweet.

I got home and napped for a bit. At least, I think I did. I lost a few hours and then one of my housemates was baking cookies. I am a useless baker, so my job was to turn these

into this,

which became these.

Deliciousness.

She also bought some mad fruit.

Completely unrelated, but I am in love with these pens.

They're pretty much fine-tip markers, but they're cheap they don't bleed and I love them.

It's a dork thing.

Love!

I understand that three weeks is a rather long time...

2010-01-26T22:43:00.005Z

Between essays, exams, no internet, and just general life, updating was not an option, I'm afraid.

So, let's fix that.

Yes, it will be a long one.

No pictures, though.

When I arrived back in Dublin on the ninth, it was a veritable winter wonderland. Five inches of snow is not a lot, but it is enough to make everything look clean and lovely and soft. Enough, as well, for snow ball fights, snow angels, snowmen, and attempts to turn the front of the house into a snow fort. Snow.

It was even cold enough for the canal to freeze solidly (in most places). We felt dangerous and cool walking across it. Well, until two of my lovelies decided the most badass thing to do would be to make snow angels on the canal. I've had enough experience with Little Women to know that fucking around on ice is a bad idea unless Christian Bale is around to save you. Everyone was fine, though.

While we were enjoying our midnight frolic, we noticed a small crowd had gathered by on the banks of the canal by the bridge. We went to check it out and discovered that people were trying to rescue a juvenile swan who was had been separated from the others and was now trapped in the ice. They managed to get it out and the poor animal was hypothermic. One of my housemates grabbed a bunch of towels and blankets from the house and we bundled her (we decided she was a girl) up and spoke with the people who had were on the scene before us about what to do. We wound up taking her in for the night because...The crowd pretty much left.

Thus began the problem of how five college students will keep a swan alive.

Now, I'm going to stop right here. This is not an entry to alert the world to how totally awesome we are and bitch about how the world is selfish and awful and aren't we the most morally-sound-sexy-awesome people ever.

We called every organization from the DSPCA, to the emergency veterinary clinics, to the Bird Rescue, to the Gardai. Everything was closed or unwilling to help.

Things we learned:

-animal emergencies don't happen after eight at night, especially on Sundays

-only pets are worth saving

-the police will laugh at you

We wound up using a duffle bag as a cradle to bring Alex, as we named her, to the UCD emergency veterinary hospital. For reasons which are not UCD's fault (blame The Man) we were not allowed to bring Alex further than the building's atrium. There she was given antibiotics and we were given advice on how to care for her. That was all they could do.

Shining light in this: The taxi driver (whose name we all wish we had gotten) who drove us in the unplowed, icy roads to UCD and back home, did so for free. Actually, the kindest man ever. He was as upset as we were and went far above and beyond what anyone could have expected.

We set Alex up in the spare room with food, water, hot water bottles, towels--anything we could. The folks at the veterinary hospital told us that the stress of being taken out of her environment and just the events of the night might cause her too much stress and kill her either way, so it was best if we mostly left her alone once she could support her head on her own. So, we did.

We stayed up until about five, taking turns checking on her now and again. Alex seemed to be doing better. Sadly, in the end, she didn't make it. We think that it was too great for her and she simply gave up.

After we all realized what had happened, we had to figure out what to do.

Other things we learned:

-Nothing is open on Sunday. Especially if there is snow.

-Vets and emergency animal services will do nothing if the deceased animal is not a pet.

-The Dublin City Council would normally help in these instances. Unfortunately, swans are a protected species and, thus, cannot be handled by the city's workers.

-The Gardai are lovely. 'Not to be rude, but what the hell can we do with a dead swan?'

Shining light, Version 2.0: Clontarf Animal Hospital. They were the only ones to answer their phone. We brought Alex to them and, well, that was all we could do.

What was the point of all this, then?

While it is not clear that Alex would have survived the night no matter what, she would have stood a much better chance were there not such a failing on society's end. We were less than pleased with the organizations we attempted to contact, particularly the DSPCA, who had only one person on call for emergencies and he was not a vet. This, however, is a matter of funding. I have no grand ideas that giving a fiver will save all of the animals in the world and cure us from apathy and destruction. But it can't hurt. So, give if you can.

DSPCA, or your own branch of animal welfare.

Less heavy topics next time, I promise.

Another long one. Less Stallone, more toy jellyfish.

2010-01-04T01:48:00.011Z

I started packing to go back to college today, which seems like the act of a responsible young adult. Do not be fooled. This is as much of an exercise in procrastination as deep-conditioning my hair and helping my mom with the dishes were. Given, this comes at the end of a day I spent studying in Barnes & Noble because the library is closed on Sundays (yes, I am that sad), but that was for equal parts scholarly and creepy reasons...The Customer Service guy is cute, with his bad hair and lanyard.

Packing my bags, I got to thinking about how my choice of school has impacted my life.

I dreamed about attending my university since I was eleven because I was the dorky tween who fantasized about musty books and composition notebooks. Still am. When I received what I assumed was my 'Dear John' letter and turned out to be my place offer, I cried. My response was in the post as soon as I could stop hyperventilating long enough to find a pen and a stamp.

Of course, putting an ocean between you and everyone you love has its drawbacks, and distance isn't just a matter of space.

Last November, my aunt and uncle had their first child.

This kid.

She's adorable to the point of insanity. She's also my goddaughter.

The only problem with this is that her birth and baptism occurred while I was away at school. I didn't meet her until I went home for my Christmas break. Way to fail, Liz, way to fail.

Since I won't be around for most of her early years, I started a time-capsule of sorts. I made her a little bag and am constantly filling it with presents and letters to her so she knows that I'm always thinking of her, no matter where I am. Because I'm a mush.

The newest addition won't fit in the bag, but whatever. It's pictures of places where the other presents are from and a promise that we will go there together someday.

Doing this makes me genuinely happy.

I can't, however, do this for all of my lovelies. There are friends who, because of scheduling and life in general, I haven't seen in over a year. Even my best and closest friends, I've only seen three times during my time at home, and I have little to no idea what's happening in their lives. It sucks and I feel totally responsible for it, though I know that it's part of growing up and whatnot. I accept that, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

All that said, I'm lucky to have so many amazing and supportive people counted among my friends and family.

In fact, I was recently reunited with an old friend.

This is Jorge.

This is Jorge with a moustache.

Jorge, being a good friend and a very studious jellyfish, helped me to study.

He even picked out his new favourite poem.

He would like to share it with you.

Sentimental Dangers

When out of work and fierce with self-pity

I'd walk until the fierceness left my feet

and I broke down. Then I'd start home,

where once I walked up to find my wife

pitching a stick across the parking lot

while an ugly dog sat and looked at her.

She'd found him near the office where she typed,

and fed him half her sandwich. He'd hung around

until she'd given in and brought him home.

But he loved me so much that when I went

to play with him, he'd roll onto his back

and piss until it splattered on his chest.

I'd sit outside all afternoon and talk

to him, to the hard knowledge in his face

that she'd leave me when I was well enough

to be left. I talked too much. She'd tell her friends,

He's out of work. He thinks he is that dog.

And she was right, I did. But we were poor,

living on frozen chicken pies and tea--

I knew I'd have to take him to the pound.

As I signed him away with my right hand

and wiped my left--which he would not stop licking--

against the unwashed leg of my blue jeans

I felt I was signing myself away.

An illusion, sure, but one that lasted months.

I thought of this today when I crossed the bridge

and the river smelled like a wet, unwanted dog.

-Andrew Hudgins

Good choice, Jorge.

Unrelated, but Flickr > Photobucket.

Why did I not know this until now?

Be forewarned--I went a little crazy with the screenshots

2010-01-02T02:13:00.009Z

It is a fact that I have a penchant for bad movies. Not in the ironic way which allows people to get away with owning such classics as Newsies (an all-time favourite of mine) or She's All That (be honest!). I get enjoyment from taking my brain out and just allowing these take me away to a simpler state of mind and I won't apologize for it. There are few things in this world I enjoy more than rifling through the bargain bin at the supermarket for some trashy gem or another. After being given an iTunes giftcard for Christmas, I saw fit to rent a movie that I've been dying to experience. That movie was Sylvester Stallone's Paradise Alley, and I was in no way disappointed.

This movie combines some of my favourite things:

Men is suspenders,

hard liquor,

seedy nightclubs with shitty lighting,

fierce bitches,

this guy,

and bleak snapshots of humanity.

It's an underdog story about three brothers trying to escape Hell's Kitchen in 1946. Times is hard, they are different, people are cruel, some love stories, they succeed in the end. I know it's a tired story. I don't care. I also don't care about how 'stylized' it is. If I could shoot a movie, I'd want it all done in dark alleys, makeshift doctor's offices, and clubs named Sticky's, too. You keep doing your thang, Sly.

I spent most of the movie waiting for Cosmo to jump into the ring to save Victor and wondering why all of these men are so fucking sweaty.

If you say it's because they're in Hell's Kitchen--har har har-- I'm telling Frankie that you like like him.

Now, maybe it's just because the movie is surrounded by a fine haze of cigarette smoke and desperation, but I was quite in love with the ladies' clothes. The mid-Forties were a good time to be a destitute vixen.

These girls are only extras, but don't try and tell me you wouldn't pay a quarter for a dance with them.

Then there's Bunchie. Great shoes and a sick hat, but she only gets two shots because she's a whore. No, really. She'd do you for a Klondike bar.

That brings us to the leading lady and object of desire of the two eldest Carboni brothers, Annie. Why? Because she's a babe and does art or some shit.

Her dress here has convinced me that Rodarte's dress for Target may be just what every gal needs to stomp on the heart of her lover when he becomes an asshole who exploits his brother.

Hey, you never know.

It's not just the ladies. I, personally, think Stallone makes an adorable drunk Santa.

Just don't laugh at him. He's sensitive.

Oh fuck. You made fun of him, didn't you? Now he's gone and crashed his car into the bar.

Who's going to clean that up?

Maybe this guy.

Uhhhh...Now it's time for wa-hey-hey-heyyyyy too many shots of Mr. Waits.

For anyone who's not entirely sold on this masterpiece, we'll finish with Stallone yelling at a monkey.

Fair?

2010

2010-01-01T05:07:00.001Z

Happy New Year, guys and dolls!

Here's hoping this decade isn't the one that does us all in. :]

Love,

Liz

"...you can't be so friendly, kid."

2009-12-29T15:17:00.005Z

This could almost be a follow-up post to my last.

Everyone's favourite sexual teddy bear, Liev Schreiber, will be on Broadway in A View From the Bridge.

Click that link.

When you click it, you might hear the distant sound of your grandmother's prized china tinkling as it meets the harsh reality of a hardwood floor.

This, coincidentally, is also the sound of my heart breaking.

I fly back two weeks before this opens and will not be over again until June.

Ow ow ow ow owwwww.

Perhaps it's for the best, though.

When I saw what turned out to be Jeremy Piven's last performance in Speed-the-Plow, it was his last for a reason.

That shit was a disaster.

The acting wasn't the issue, though you could tell the actors' hearts weren't in it.

I knew I didn't like the play ahead of time, but it was a Christmas gift because Jeremy fucking Piven was in it.

With this, however, I love the piece and have high hopes for the performance. Ahhh well.

I am not too disheartened, dear readers.

In keeping with what is fast becoming an annual tradition, I saw Gogol Bordello at Webster Hall with one of my best friends.

Sufficed to say, it was a religious experience.

My unimpressive height left me battered and bruised by the flailing young men and shimmy-rocking skanks while I bopped up and down for a glimpse of these modern gods.

At the beginning of their forty-five minute encore, like clockwork, a broad older gentlemen stepped to the side and became my human shield for a few songs.

Alas, when the crowd was invited to the after party it took me several seconds to comprehend that I would not be among the chosen few.

Nahhhh biggie.

I had an amazing time and we saw Batman on the Path. It was pretty sweet.

Didn't manage to get any good shots this time around, so here is my favourite from last year's joyfest/of all time.

Come, all ye faithful

2009-12-26T22:58:00.005Z

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas.

Y'know, the kind with hot chocolate, fuzzy blankets, and minimal family awkwardness.

Even if you don't celebrate, I hope it was good anyway.

Rather than post about the presents I got or just how full of peppermint bark I am, I wanted to try something a little different.

After celebrating the birth of of the world's most famous mensch, I thought we might celebrate a commodity which, due to my time in Ireland, has been missing from my life.

I mean, of course, sexy Jewish men.

Eli Roth

Let's get the giant cock in the room right out of the way. Yes, he is a skeazeball who spends most of his time getting drunk and demanding a personal viewing of girls' boobs. Yes, his most notable roles include violence. Yes, he is remarkably hairy.

I am okay with all of this. Because he is sexual and looks damn good when killing Nazis.

Liev Schreiber

Also falls under the category of "big and abusive" that I will be teased for enjoying. In our most primal and basic moments, ladies, we want this. You Tarzan. Me Jane. We bone.

You know this one is a teddy bear anyway.

A sexy, sexy teddy bear.

Jeremy Piven

I would do terrible things to this man and his v-necks.

End of story.

Jeff Goldblum

Let's try to keep our minds out of the gutter.

Nobody ever listens to Jeff Goldblum. From dinosaurs to aliens, people just don't take him seriously.

Keeping his shirt open for most of Jurassic Park was a good way to deal with what could otherwise have resulted in an inferiority complex.

Not to worry, Jeff.

Nature, uh, finds a way. (Into your pants.)

Coen Brothers

Two for one deal. That is, the two of them for the one me.

Guys want blonde twins who split their hours Hooters and the Dallas Cowboys.

I want these two.

Yes. Please.

Perhaps I'm projecting the wrong image here.

Raw sexuality and unbridled genius are not the only admirable qualities in a fella'.

I'd be happy to light the menorah with any of these gentlemen.

Because funny is sexy.

Seth Rogen in particular, though.

Even with the weight loss, he is my schlubbly, curly-haired dreamboat.

I could take him home to mother and we could smoke up to make said meeting bearable.

Perfect combination of adorable, funny, with the possibility of being an asshole from time to time.

To finish us off...

Only half Jewish, but only half-dressed as well.

Thank you, Lenny.

Oh, and you too, Baby Jesus.

"Imagine, if you will, a one-eyed mouse...weeping."

2009-12-20T22:13:00.003Z

This time tomorrow, blizzard permitting, I will be back on the other side of the Atlantic, taking a walk on the beach with my family. The current weather may paint this in a bleak light, but I am more excited than I can say.

Not surprising, considering that this past week our house and lives were invaded by a horrifying being. Think the Slender Man, but French. She shook my core belief that all people are fundamentally good.

That was, of course, until my friends intervened. Or, rather, one friend.

I know that this will make two out of my meager seven entries about Secret Santas, but I don't give a fuuuuuuck.

I think I might have freaked her out with all my rantings and ravings about how amazing my package was. All the time. Plus, I never took the scarf off. But, my God.

Tom Waits collected interviews and Tommy Tiernan's first DVD? You've got to be shitting me. No. No shit indeed.

This also makes me think that Thomas is a good name. Keep that in mind, folks.

And, while we're at it, let's have Mr. Snuggles pose with the Karma soap. Because he wears a bathrobe and I have no shame.

Everything came with little notes attached that deepened their tenderness a million-fold. Wild ejaculations and animated hand gestures were not even enough to convey my joy. There was hugging, too.

Then, after we'd spent twenty-four hours in the library to finish our essays, there was lunch. We split a pizza. I was not nearly coherent enough to make any food decisions, so she ordered. I noticed later that she was picking off the pineapple (we got Hawaiian).

"Why did you order Hawaiian pizza if you don't like pineapple?"

"Because you like pineapple."

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I almost cried.

I cannot list the ways in which I am happy or thankful to be so blessed.

Fuck yes, Christmastime.

My only problem now is that I'm still writing my second essay and Mr. Waits' wisdom is far more appealing than Tennyson's sorrow.

Urggggh

2009-12-15T00:52:00.003Z

I've just had the most awkward forty-five minutes of my life.

To lighten the mood...wingtip and saddle shoes.

I'm a dork.

Always wanted a pair.

Especially when I made fun of them.

Tuxxedo - Steve Madden

Wingtip Oxfords - Steven Melin

Gale Patent Wingtips - Forever 21

I don't think it's a coincidence that my favourite pair is also the cheapest.

Feel free to laugh, but I'll be hand-jiving the awkward away.

Sh-sh-shake it up, baby!

"So young, and so untender?"

2009-12-11T21:42:00.006Z

"So young, my lord, and true."

If we're being honest, Cordelia, I'm not giving you or your family the attention you deserve right now. I'm trying, but I cannot focus for the life of me. All day.

I woke up horrendously early, armed with good intentions. I made a proper breakfast (that is, not just toast), did my thang, got dressed, packed my bags, took some very intense notes on criticism of The Alchemist for about ten minutes, then went in to drop off writing samples and post a few letters.

Going to see Where the Wild Things Are with a group of friends was, perhaps, not my greatest decision of the week. Don't get me wrong--I loved every minute of it and spent the entire film trying not to openly weep. I left trapped in a glass case of emotion, but my soul was definitely better for it. Except for almost crying when I dropped the cup of tea I'd bought to keep myself going in the library. I'm a woman. I'm allowed.

Never made it to the library. Instead, went to a lovely choral concert of Christmas songs that made my heart sing. Not as well as those performing, of course, but whatever.

Friends were right in telling me to come home. I'm totally wrecked for no apparent reason. What is this nonsense? I'm reading lines from Lear and tearing up like a little bitch. I think that I just have a lot of feelings.

My soul, though a bit wobbly, is in a good place. Plus, my wonderful new scarf kept me warm and happy all day.

Since it is the holiday season, I've decided to be a selfish skank and imagine the things I would buy myself if Daddy Warbucks ever returns my calls.

I'm looking at you, bro!

My lack of funds prevented me from ordering this myself in time to get the t-shirt bundle. This is actually the first Christmas I've ever wanted to be asked by my parents what I'd like. Possibly because it's the first I've had an exact answer.

I've been dying to get this for the past couple of years, but I always put it off.

I have a lot of first seasons. It's a problem.

No more box sets now, or we'll never be done.

Cogito Ergo Sum Silhouette Ring

This illustrates exactly how lame I am.

Tentacle Ring

Creepy? Perhaps. Gorgeous? Fo' sho'.

Wine Country Dress

A custom-made dress? Yes, puhleez, Warbucks.

Silk Taffeta

Technically it's a wedding dress, but I technically don't give a fuck.

Wenezday Boots

I would learn to walk in heels for/make sweet love to these boots.

+ everything in Lush, a new lens for my camera, a typewriter, a record player for the house here, tights that don't ladder, fabulous handwriting, world peace and a puppy.

_____

What I will actually get:

-to see my family and dog

-to hang out with my friends

-to play with my goddaughter and meet my new baby cousin

-to trim the tree

-to walk on the beach with my mama

-to watch NCIS marathons with my dad

-underwear, socks, hugs, home-cooked meals, and some kind of board game (YES)

Not going to lie, this second list is a far better motivator for me to get my ass in gear. It sounds lame, I know, but thinking about hugs from my lovelies is making me do this.

Hopped up on gummy worms

2009-12-10T22:23:00.001Z

I got my Secret Santa package in the post today and I'm finding it very difficult to reign in my excitement.

I think my housemates were more than a little confused by it, but they were kind enough to prop it up against my door (like I imagine Santa would. I don't know.)

I could have stopped right here and it would have been enough joy to last me a long time.

Not only is that my favourite nail polish (which I just ran out of) and the most delicious candies, she made that brain (pencil topper) and arm (pen holder).

My face:

Not done. The ribbon is sparkly. I feel the need to share this.

Are you seeing this?

These are handmade and I'm not entirely convinced that they aren't made of cotton candy and magic.

Here's where I actually lost it.

The back:

The photos fail to convey exactly how gorgeous these are.

Composition book + zombies = DEcomposition book = Liz collapsed into a pile of mush.

The note inside was so tender and lovely that I had to go and make another cup of tea.

No lie.

I could not be happier if Phillip Seymour Hoffman walked through my door with a tea tray, condoms, and my finished essays.

Thank you so much, Raena!

Forever and ever and ever AMEN.

While there are still twenty minutes left of the day

2009-12-07T23:28:00.001Z

Today marks the sixty eight year anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack.

It is also Tom Waits' sixtieth birthday.

I'm not placing the latter before the former in importance, but let's try to stay on the positive side of things.

The sunny side of the street, as it were.

To celebrate I had lunch for three hours instead of going to the library, listened to the man himself nonstop, and got free whiskey while meeting some new people.

A good day, by all accounts.

Did anyone else celebrate?

Play us out, sir, with one of my favourites.

Let's get this going right

2009-12-06T02:20:00.000Z

So, sometimes we do silly things with boys.

And then we feel really terrible, even if it is unnecessary.

Then we are reminded of all the mountains of essays and exams looming in the distance, for which we are dismally unprepared.

(Like, trying to climb Everest without oxygen when your only prerequisite is being "King of the Hill" on a pile of woodchips when you were ten unprepared.)

Life, however, is kind enough to throw in a few good things to balance out our ridiculousness.

Right now, my good thing is one of my amazing housemates.

Not only did she clean the kitchen and make me a delicious dinner while encouraging me to do my work, she bought me this.

That's right, folks.

It's a Batman finger puppet and he makes my day a little brighter.

Why, yes, that was the reason for this post.

Technical difficulties

2009-12-02T12:11:00.001Z

This is my first/second entry and it will be comprised almost entirely of photos.

Bill Nighy is a god among men and a couple of weeks ago I had the distinct pleasure of inhabiting the same ten square feet as him for two hours.

Please, you look.