Rankling Under My Skin

I've lost my words. No, really, my ability to communicate has been all over the place the last few weeks. My jokes are coming off mean, it's like I can't control my inflection any more, that muscle keeps spazzing out and putting more hostility into everything than what was intended. Also, I'm misreading everyone's intentions because they're responding to mildly emotionally retarded Mary and everything is getting garbled. Is there a verbal chiropractor that I could see that could realign the spine of my intonation so that I can stop being a social pariah?

A concurrent conversation with my blogging has made me want to throw in the random comparison me and my friend Adam came up with: taking a relationship really slow can be nice-- you don't want to rush things like a guy on crack, you want to take it slow like a guy using weed. The benefits of this approach? It allows you to really enjoy the simple small things in life that are making you happy or just blow your mind for their pure genius. In short, the relationship is more chill, contemplative, and slightly psychedelic. Yeah I should probably go to sleep more often. But this kind of relationship really does sound nice. For the record I have never actually done that, unless you count the slow relentless decay of my self esteem during an unrequited crush, but I really do think theoretically that a slow relationship would be awesome.

How come men in media can get a close-up on their face and the lines around their eyes only make them look even more distinguished and handsome and individual? I mean my genes are pretty good in the wrinkles department, I'm going to look like I'm underaged for the rest of my life and by association make my husband look like a cradle robber, but it's the principle of the thing. Women so often find guys attractive who objectively could only be called "interesting-looking." Men? Kinda picky little buggers.

I don't have an iPod. Is that at all weird? I had a little mp3 player for short trips for about three years but accidentally washed it a couple weeks ago (sorry Kristen I was pretty bummed about that) but I have totally not embraced the iPod sensation. I'm still in fact addicted to mixed CD's.

And before you think that is incredibly arcane just realize that everyone should be pretty psyched that I've even moved past mixed tapes--it was the blisters I would form from keeping my fingers primed and ready on the play/record combination that finally cured me of that one.

But I am just not responding to the whole idea of having all the music you own ready at your fingertips. My argument against it? It makes things too easy. It makes you just want to push "shuffle" and be done with it, and then you're assaulted with music from entirely opposing genres that don't settle you down at all but just wind you up tighter and tighter in emotional response confusion.

Yeah I know everyone's next point is going to be that you can make playlists on your iPod but I just don't buy it. The playlist does not exist to me the same way an overheated CD with my horrific chicken scratch handwriting on it does. I guess that makes me a rather narrow minded person if I can only comprehend things that I can literally grasp. How shallow. Ah well who really wants to be deep anyway, creepy underwater beings live in the deep dark places of the world.

I found out about a month ago that a kid that I went to school with 4th-10th grade was put in prison for attempted murder. He tried to kill his parents. We were desk buddies for three years due to the imprisonment of alphabetical seating. But I never minded sitting next to Clark. He never really paid attention to the teacher, which was mildly horrifying to my ten-year-old self, but he was always nice to me and kinda stuck up for me sometimes. But it's true that even back then you could tell he was one of the troubled kids, the ones who acted out and came to school smelling like alcohol and never sounded like he liked his parents very much. It's just so incredibly sad the way that worked out.

By the way, the picture accompaning this blog has no real meaning. Well, I mean it has meaning, it's a huge internation icon, has a rich crazy history and all of that jazz, but it doesn't really mean much in the context of this blog except that it is one of my favorite photographs. Ever. I literally just now stared at it for twenty minutes. Again, I should probably sleep more.

I get a kick out of posting my momentary obsession music, so I'm going to do it again:

You're Fit But You Know It--The Streets
As The World Falls Down--David Bowie (yes it ABSOLUTELY is from Labyrinth)
Sex and Candy--Marcy Playground
Fully Alive--Flyleaf
Helter Skelter--The Beatles
Every Rose Has It's Thorn--Poison
Satisfaction--Rolling Stones
In Bloom--Nirvana
Walk Idiot Walk--The Hives
Open Your Eyes--Snow Patrol
Romeo and Juliet--The Killers
Sour Times--Portishead
All I Want Is You--U2
Wild Horses--The Sundays
Time After Time--Quietdrive (cover)
Love of the Loveless--Eels
My Doorbell-White Stripes
The Bitch Song--Bowling For Soup
Lake of Fire--Nirvana
Fix You--Coldplay
That Day--Poe
Instiutionalized--Suicidal Tendencies
Zero--The Smashing Pumpkins

Don't read too much into what's going on there musically, I'm actually trying to get hardcore back into practicing my arias, so it's just really there for contrast from my rehearsing. I wish I hadn't slipped to the point where I suck at singing now.