wake up...

i frequent livejournal.com and view my filtered friends page but i rarely post an entry myself. it seems as though i have so much to say but i don't know where to start- so i decide against it. instead i'll just post words of what is going on without elaborating, just as a minor lift to this heavy load.

-fuck break-ups
-fuck make-ups
-break-ups for real this time
-tear soaked pillow covers
-moving
-UCSDysentery
-alcohol seduction
-drug binge
-dancing
-casual sex
-vomit
-no roommates
-hate new roommates
-dying to drop out
-pills stopped working
-too much driving
-too much reading
-at least i eat healthy food
-poor, no money, broke
-but coachella should be fun
-expensive ass cigarettes
-two broken phones
-drunk bruises
-black coffee
-sugar-free red bull
-la jolla is exactly how you picture it.

this actually doesn't help at all, i've just become more stressed. i should have just done a survey.

i don't remember what its like to be genuinely happy.

men are no good. my heart is broken yet again. a man is to blame.

i might come across as calm, but i'm not.

All i want to do is call you up, hang out on my bed listen to Can and take a nap.

WHATEVER, AS DEPENDENT AS IT MAY SEEM, I CAN'T SLEEP WITHOUT YOU BEING ON THE PHONE WITH ME. DON'T YOU KNOW THAT I DON'T ENJOY SLEEP UNLESS ITS YOUR VOICE I HEAR LAST? I DON'T ENJOY BED-TIME PERIOD, LET ALONE WITHOUT YOUR VOICE TRANSMITTED THROUGH THE TELEPHONE RECEIVER. (I ALWAYS HAVE TO REMIND MYSELF I BEFORE E EXCEPT AFTER C.) NO, I DON'T KNOW WHY. BUT DOES IT MATTER? I LIKE YOUR VOICE. I LIKE THE SOUND OF YOUR NERVOUS LAUGH. I LIKE THE SOUND OF YOUR DEEP BREATHS WHILE I FORCE YOU TO STAY ON THE PHONE. I MEAN SHIT, ITS ALREADY 3:35 AM PACIFIC TIME AND I CAN'T SLEEP. ITS YOUR FAULT, YOU KNOW. I HOPE I CAN MAKE IT THOUGH THE DAY TOMORROW ON NO SLEEP BECAUSE I'M OBVIOUSLY NOT GETTING ANY TONIGHT. THINGS WOULD BE EASIER IF YOU JUST STUCK TO THE ROUTINE. THINGS ARE GOING TOO FAR. IT IS NOW 3:37, THAT'S 5:37 YOUR TIME. PERHAPS IT WOULDN'T MATTER AS MUCH IF YOU LIVED DOWN THE STREET. HELL, MAYBE EVEN IF YOU LIVED DOWN THE 5. BUT AS REALITY WOULD HAVE IT, YOU LIVE THOUSANDS OF MILES AWAY. YOU'RE SO INCONSIDERATE. AND MAYBE LACK OF SLEEP IS GETTING TO ME, BUT FUCK, WHO KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE DOING INSTEAD OF CALLING ME. NO BONE IN MY LITTLE BODY BELIEVES THAT YOU ARE SLEEPING. NO WAY. NOT WITHOUT ME. I KNOW BETTER. WE HAVEN'T SLEPT WITHOUT TALKING TO EACH OTHER FOR NINE MONTHS. WHY START NOW? FUCK YOU IPOD DOCK, I GET IT, ITS 3:42 AND HE STILL HASN'T CALLED. GET OFF MY BACK. WHATEVER DUDE, I NEVER USE YOU ANYWAY. ITS YOUR FAULT IHOME IPOD DOCK THAT I ALWAYS FORGET TO REMOVE MY IPOD FROM YOUR EVIL CLUTCHES AND END UP IN MY CAR WITHOUT AN IPOD AND FORCED TO LISTEN TO OLD CDS OR NPR. AND WHATEVER COMFY TEMPORPEDIC MATTRESS AND PILLOWS. I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. I'M NOT SLEEPING UNTIL HE CALLS ME. I REFUSE. IT JUST ISN'T RIGHT. ALRIGHT ITS NEARLY 6 AM YOUR TIME AND YOU ARE PROBABLY GETTING READY FOR WORK. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ABOUT ME? I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU THE COLD SHOULDER TODAY, I HOPE YOU KNOW. FOR MAKING ME GO THOUGH THIS. TRY TO CALL ME TODAY DURING YOUR LUNCH BREAK, SEE IF I DON'T PRESS THE IGNORE KEY. JUST TRY ME. I MIGHT BE BITTER BECAUSE WE HAVEN'T SPOKEN FOR TWO DAYS. BUT THAT WAS ALL ME, SO I CALL IT A TRUSE. IT WORKS LIKE THAT, YA KNOW. SHIT ISN'T COOL, MAN. RIGHT! JUST WHAT I NEEDED. MY ITUNES IS NOW PLAYING A MIX YOU MADE ME. THIS IS BULLSHIT. I CANNOT ESCAPE YOU. NOR CAN I ESCAPE NOUNS THAT BEGIN WITH AN "I". ITUNES, IPOD, IHOME...IFUCK YOU, YOU IDICK. I'M CRANKY NOW AND THE DAY HAS ONLY BEGUN. I KNOW YOU'RE MAD AT ME AND NOT CALLING ME BUT I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT IT MEANS NOTHING TO ME. YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. AND THAT IS WHY I WROTE THIS.

for my birthday is:
1. my ex to stop being himself.
2. less humidity.
3. alcohol.
4. you know, health and stuff.
5.
6. and that rad lamp from z gallerie, you know which.

The harsh abrasion from a suffocating, sweat-soaked crowd was completely worth the Daft Punk show (and I have claustrophobia). It was a show that will take some time to convince myself as real. We had somehow slowly forced our way to the 3rd-ish row. Waiting in the unyielding heat until Satellite Party (aka Columbia Record's excuse to revive old Jane's Addiction shit) was finished with their set was almost as horrible as the music. Grant Park had never been so anxious. Anyway, I knew what was behind the black screen the crew used to cover up the stage, but i had no fucking idea how crazy things were going to get. I heard the soft yet intense tones of Close Encounters of The Third Kind and I was completely stoked. The massive pyramid was so so so rad in person. They ended with an encore and a super cute costume change and left me longing for more. Guys, Daft Punk was so amazing. You missed out.

Also, I choked up watching Blonde Redhead; I was enlightened, or something, by The Polyphonic Spree; Surprised by the unknown, at least by me, Ghostland Observatory and I never shook my ass harder to M.I.A. Lollapalooza was way rad.

Looking over my friend's journals i've noticed that the majority of you whine and denounce any single strand of stress that falls on your close-to-perfect hay stack of livelihood. And i've always been one to jump on the bandwagon.
Although i tend to possess a sufficient amount of cigarettes and drink enough espresso to help me get by, i fall short when it comes to opportunities to breathe easy. dude, i barely have time for self-loathing! i'm moving to Chicago in June and i am no where close to being ready for the change. Man, i literally shutter whenever i think about what needs to be done before i leave. Don't even get me started on how much i'm going to miss san diegans or westsiderz in general. i haven't been this nervous since i played Lucy in "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown" in 4th grade. but even then it was just a temporary stage fright. maybe i haven't been this nervous since the night i anticipated losing my virginity. haha, that seems most analogous. whatever, i'm going to go get dinner: a sugar-free latte and toast. its all i can afford...wahh wahh.

forget what i said yesterday. me and saab have officially broke up.

the juxaposition of me working in starbucks is almost laugh worthy. but nonetheless, i do work at starbucks. i actually have two jobs right now. three, counting school. four, counting Sebastian. speaking of which, i am single. Saab continues to push me into these guilt trips and claims that the reason why we're not completely "g&bf" is because i want to sleep around. fuck that! i'll have him and whoever else know that i've actually been a serial monogamist for a good portion of my life. please excuse me for wanting to continue being young and enjoy my life while i can. not only do i not have the time for a boyfriend but i don't want one. i like Saab a whole lot but if he can't deal with us just being...whatever it is that we are...then we can't be anything at all. that's confusing, sorry.
anyway, i know i post boring entrees about lame fashion shows, but i wanted to let you all know that one of my favorites Marc Jacobs is back in rehab. yeah its old news, but it might be new for some. after seven years of sobriety he's checked back in.
lastly, i want these:

Michael Kors flats


Prada by Lg

EFF THE IPHONE, NIGGA!

(i'm not racist)

(pyche, yeah i am.)

i finally got to watch Volver, and i definitely enjoyed it. Almodovar is brilliant. this film feels like a novella played over a 1960's murder mystery backdrop with a drama crammed reality tv story line. i recommend it for those who have a girl power t-shirt to wear the theater because its one of those kinds of movies. also, Penelope Cruz is hot.

and just in case you were wondering what to get me for whatever holiday is next...it should be a Lucifer Vir Honestus Quercus ring. they are way gorgeous and what's $6,000 compared to seeing me smile? right?


alright, enough dreaming. so the other day i was inspired to draw, which hasn't happened to me since middle school but it was fun. i ended up filling a few pages in my notebook with elaborate designs for a dream house. but once i had finished i remember where my inspiration came from. i ended up with drawings of kazuyo sejima and ryue nishizawa buildings! i felt like a sham. amazing japanese architects whose designs are so clean and beautiful:



anyway, i had dinner with an amazing boy yesterday. his name is Sebastian and he was my valentine 07. ha. but really, he's really sweet. i kind of like him. i'll post some of our cheap drunk pictures another time. and that time shall come when i don't look so hideous in them. so basically, never.

COACHELLA IS GOING TO GO OFF!!!!!!

For the record, I hate when people breathe loud when they drink water.

PROJECT RUNWAY FASHION WEEK SHOWS

Excuse me, i couldn't help myself. I'm still really excited to watch the season finale. I like Jeffrey's collection the most. But I have a feeling that he won't/can't win because of the execution scandal. Michael Knight's collection is also really pretty. I love this piece:



Other than that life is pretty okay. I broke up with Mike but we're still good friends. I'm dating around and its fun. I'm really into fun recently, and its good to me.

Can someone please kill me because that's the only way I'll be able to get some sleep. I've had a quad machiatto followed by two cups of my home brew. I need to continue studying for my test this morning at 10. But before all that, please, shoot me (and not with espresso, because i've had my lifetime fill).