Sometimes words cannot describe

Meeee!!


Who am I kidding? They totally can.
Anyway, I'm happy to announce that my france thing hath been sent to the embassy (I hope to heavens I get it), and that I am going to start swing dancing again. The foot is healed, and its time for my right leg to come alive again! I will be happy to kiss the yuckiness that not being able to dance has brought to my life goodbye, yay!
In other news, I have to write 5 articles about fashion...don't ask.

At least not until I tell you I have good (employment) news.

But I won't be silly and go into details!

Happy Birthday Benjie!

One of my favorite professors (i'm discovering in hindsight, that I did in fact have them), who sortof reminds me of Captain Kangaroo because of the way his voice is always full of wonder (and is always scripted - the man wrote 1.5 hour movie-monologues-soliloquies of lilting prose) was interviewed for some TV show about Ben Franklin's relationship w/ John Penn (of the Pennsylvania Penn's).

John Penn "truly thought that he was better than Franklin. Penn was noble, and Franklin was common," Zuckerman said. "To have this guy, by an accident of birth, think that he was superior to Franklin was a kind of haughtiness that tore Franklin up. I think so much of his career is a vindication of the possibilities of commoners."

What would Ben say now?

Ben Franklin's birthday and all this Penn talk remind me of something my neighbor, Damian, - The Poet of Sweetbriar Lane - said to me:

"Penn, yeah! I know that one - founded by the Penn Brothers : William and Sean!"
"Damian, the founder was Ben Franklin!"
"Yeah, the Penn Brothers! Willie, Sean, and Ben!"

Genius.

The Penn Brothers

Why did I do that

In an attempt to find an exciting life for myself, I went on the Rhodes scholar website.
I don't feel inadequate at all, I just feel UNDER-advised.
How did these kids have any clue how to become concert cellists, olympic skiiers, AND 3rd-world development scholars who also volunteer at an orphanage in Bangladesh during the summers while formulating micro-funding matricies for the lending of small amounts of credit to disenfranchised women of the local village, all the while advising wayward teens at the local Y -- all at the same TIME??

I do not begrudge these turbo-people their achievements - clearly their efforts are going to be a good thing for the world, and some of them may be fun to corner in a rocking chair on a porch with some lemonade for some lovely chatting, but hey, I'd like to study at oxford, why didn't I know i COULD do all this crap, and why, where, and when did I get so dis-enabled, dudes?
Anyway, I shouldn't have done that web-site lookin'.

But the fact is I want to travel, and I dont' have the dough, so I've got to find my motivation and the dream somewhere so I can get a grant, or get the magical blessing from above that is supposed to be bestowed upon those who dream, etc...

This dead-end job business is just a ill-fitting pair of jeans on the legs of my life, and I'm ready to take them off.

I remembered reading jane eyre, and the one thing I just HATED about it was that she was so OBLIGATED to everyone but herself, and now I am Jane Eyre, and that is not cool. Still, I have no desire to be THAT girl on the blog, introspecting my life away while the years go by....yuck, the feeling sorry for yourself blogger - trite and tragic! And nothing like me, so I'm not concerned, but I'm listening to a lovely phone message from jason mraz to some website (yes, its a little creepy, but he makes it not seem so), and well, its helping me to feel a little peace in his exhuberance, and his having made his peace with God, and in the knowledge that the sort of completion he's found waits for everyone.

and it does!

WTF of the month

And ugly girls are great for a party!



That is, according to Curtis Sittenfiled, author of "Prep," visionary (albeit, they're ugly visions), and brunette and educated menace to attracive society.

"...I'd never dislike a beautiful woman on sight -- I always try to give her the benefit of the doubt and imagine that she has the personality of a nonbeautiful woman."

I just read an article in the April 2005 Allure (while i was searching for a "Got Milk" ad for our mag) wherein Curtis "Roman Nose" Sittenfeld, rather than getting over it, decides that because when she was 14, she was ugly , and hence way more awesome than those who were not beaten with the ugly/Count Chocula nose stick.

The thesis of the article is: if you were ever beautiful without having to suffer being ugly(especially when you were a teenager), I do not want to hang out with you.

Calling all once-ugly, now marginally pretty girls who have yet to get over your ugly past! We want you, and your neuroses, at our next party!

Who doesn't love a girl who's constantly haunted by the shadows of her former bad-skinned and tooth-braced self? I know I just loooove that girl.

Curtis talks about how she loooooves hanging around people who are constantly compensating for their ugly days, but essentially states and non-states that, "Converseley...conventionally beautiful girls and women are, as often as not, kind of bland.

Here's why: because they can be."

*As often as not. +1+(-1) = 0, by the way.*

Ok, fine.
I won't contest that hey, girls who have been pretty all their lives are probably going to be more boring because they are pretty, and don't have to get people - who would otherwise not want to be seen with them - to pay them some attention.

Nor will I contest that I, too, had a creepy mop-head, braces, and unplucked eyebrows moment in time - but only very breifly. As to the after affects of my brief stay inHotel Awkward? Life-defining and personality-enhancing it was NOT.

She makes some good points about teenage plastic surgery - duly noted, Curtis. I too watch Dr. 90210 and hate the girls who get tummy tucks so they can fit into the latest Juicy denim, and think, cello, what is that mother thinking.

All that being said, havn't we ladies seeme to have reached some point today where it's not OK - and not encouraged to such extent, even - to hate on the pretty ones?

Damn you Curtis, you smartie, woodsy girl!

Smart and woodsy are actually quite mutually exclusive. I can attest to this.
Put me in the woods with a Calculus proof.

Smart as I was/am, I didn't want to wear a patagonia jacket in middle school, and I do not want one now, and I would not wish that form-follows-function nightmare on my 13 year old cousin, save on a hike in the woods (when it would be useful).

Though I do wish her intelligence and wit, I would be lying if I did not say I also wish for her ability to creatively coordinate her purse and shoes and to throw together a mean party outfit.

Wearing heels in the woods = really dumb. (unless you're trying to pick up a rakish amateur astronomer a la Jennifer Love Hewitt in the great movie-that-should-be-a-musical, Heartbreakers)
But saying you can't wear heels elsewhere just because you're looking too cute for a 13 year old?
Shut up.
We all have the right to want to look cute.

Mind you, wanting heels are one thing, and wanting tube tops and nose jobs quite another.

Still, now I can't wear makeup, and can't wear heels - and if I do - especially if I like it - I must have no personality.
Thank you, Curtis! So many nights I've gazed lovingly into the mirror wondering why I just don't get Monty Python movies, or existentialism at that.

This sortof revenge of the nerds paradigm shifting is s-t-u-p-i-d.

I know, we'll just tell everyone to just wear fleece robes to everything - class, work, innagural balls - and then everyone will have a great personality.

A great personality is not born of ugliness, nor of the inevitable inferiority complexes that all of Curtis' compensating-in-personality-now-for-lack-of-hottness-then, nor even of going to University- even a really good, diverse and fashionable one.

Disney channel moment: It - your great personality - comes from you. It comes from the people you choose to be around. It's a choice, and I guarantee there are ugly girls who have chosen the rotten personality box.

So, if you happen to wear mascara - that should have no negative impact on your personality.

It will however, when used responsibly ( not to impress some guy, knowingly and willingly objectify yourself, poke your eye out, etc...), have an extremely positive impact on your eyelashes, making them powerfully thicker, longer and more luscious -- it may also prevent party poopers like Curtis Sittenfeld from talking to you.

And for that, THIS shameless mascara-wearer - who also happens to have one bangin' personality - is grateful.

Heavy, man

Suffering a little bit from a birthday hangover/head cold.
Not the best combo, but I'll survive.
The magazine went to press today, so there's nothing for me to do specifically - I'm trying to think of creative ways to weasel in, but am coming up a little short.

Hung out with some irish musicians last night at McGurks - they were super hard-core, headbanging types.

I didn't have the heart to tell them that they played the bagpipes.
And the banjo.

I guess in ireland, you can play the bagpipes and be hard core...and that's cool!

Did a proof test (my first ever) for The Onion yesterday. It was frickin' hard! They must've sent me the most terrible and incoherent article that has ever existed.
And it wasn't funny! I chewed it up, and spit it out. I think it was lovely.
I did notice that I had one misshap (period where there should've been a comma - damn) at the end. That will most likely do me in, so I guess I'll kiss my chances at the Onion goodbye...unless of course the internship gods look down on me, or even the employment gods cast some spells, throw some lightning bolts, etc...and I end up with a paid job.

Am setting up an interview with a newspaper in the middle of appalachia pretty much - but she didn't ask for clips (don't have much to offer there) and I'd be writing 5-10 stories a week and living in a little bitty town. It sounds sortof exciting to me - and its not like I'm going to stay there for my life.

I'd of course like to spend a larger part of my life in the southeast of this great country, but beggars cannot be choosers. When I settle down, I'll just make sure its on the right plot of real estate....my dream house is for sale right now in Charleston for a mere 850K.
A steal!

I wish I were independently wealthy or something and could just buy it, rennovate it and live there and look at the grasses blowing in the ocean breeze. But I'd probably get bored.
Anyway, I'm in no shape to write an engaging entry - so I won't take up any more time.
Peace out until later!

Peanut butter and crackers (here's the part where I sound like an ungrateful 14 year old)

When I was in High School, I really ate a lot of peanut butter and crackers. They were an antidote to the classes I was taking (or that were taking me, rather) - something to keep me awake, give me something to do besides chemistry, and if you've ever had them, you know they taste delicious. Old fashioned jiff and saltines. Writing lab reports seasoned with these delicious morseld from the George Washington carver gift shop, I'd think to myself, "When this is through Lori, you'll get in a good college, work hard, and then you can move on to healthier foods, like, lettuce...yogurt even! Plain yogurt!"

These peanut butter and crackers did give me the stamina and endurance to complete high school with honors and gain an Ivy League acceptance letter - the proverbial golden ticket. As worldly as I thought I was - I hung out in the City! - I was soon to have the cronyism and bigotry of the upper eschelon of America's educated youth shoved down my throat.
How 'bout them apples (peanut butter and crackers)?
Once I entered the hallowed halls of the fabled and ever-promising Ivy, it became quicly evident that peanut butter and crackers, especially in the abscence of caring teachers, administrators, parents, and the simple-though-labor-intensive pathways to success that high school had paved for me, would not be cutting it in the stamina and endurance department.

How many parents and high school seniors have bought into this golden ticket mentality? While I do not in any way deny the quality and quantity of my education - on many levels - while at University, I do deny its overall accessibiity. Once you're in the door - good luck and good night.

Perhaps it was the humidity of where I was brought up - Mississippi bayou summers don't necessarily make for the provebial thick skin so cultivated by the valored cutthroats of society, right? Anderson Cooper cries, and he's losing credibility -- did anyone know that he's from Tennessee? The Coop's skin is not as thick as our friend Jon, who even condescends to show us a hint of disappointment here and there - only he's allowed because his news is fake.

Freshman year of college and on at these top-tier universities are a roll call of all the demons that were supposed to have haunted the halls of every high school - only this time they're older, they're more finely tuned, and more razor sharp. There is no better breeding ground for the cliques and socio-economic ostentation than at a University. The calm and class of adulthood not has yet descended upon the 19 year old, but the understanding of power and manipulation has developed since high school.

I was surrounded by cliches.

No indivicual, good heart, or cynical midwesterner even has any hope of coming out unscathed. . Granted, there was light at the end of the tunnel, but once you've traveled far enough to see the light - it's too late for you to become the producer of that light.

And so, since I'm looking for something to talk about, I figure, why not be cathartic?
And if you happen to be a freshman - or a high school senior even - listen closely. No one should have to swallow 4 years of a scrambled education omlette because you put all your eggs into the admission basket and forgot what to do with them afterwards.

There's more work to be done than just get in the door, - and you sure as hell should not leave it to luck, nor should you depend on the kindness of strangers.
In the vacuum of university life, you have only yourself to look to.

Am I being hyperbolic? Nope.

"It doesn't matter if I care, karma cares!"

Ok, so I'm feeling better now.
I think karma is caring...it seemed to care this weekend, in mysterious ways.
...
Spent last friday night at Mississippi Nights.

My second time in 4 days - wasn't as good as Monday's, I didn't feel like I was on drugs. STill, how much of a band girl am I? I guess I always have been, especially in middle school when I had nothing better to do. You know how Matilda moved things with her eyes? I was like, trying to get really good CDs. This hobby, much like matilda's, faded a little after I was challenged more academically, but I still hang onto it anyway. In retrospect, I sortof wish I'd channeled that energy into concert piano, or even marathon running, perhaps even ballet, but for some reason that didn't happen (doesn't mean it won't, i'm only 23 and no longer academically challenged).

I wanted to take my 12 year old 2nd cousin, but I think she had what's known as a 7th grade mood swing brought on by too much homework, not enough sleep, and crazy cracked-out hormones. I wanted to take her away from herself for a night for some great rock music, but I think she just wanted to sleep...its sortof the same difference, though - and we have a raincheck, which I solidified with a CD of songs in french, including the entire french dubbing of The Little Mermaid. I have a feeling that her dad, my cousin, will want to get his hands on that, as he's taking french, too. Maybe I should tell him they should learn kiss the girl (embrasse-la) or Under the Sea (Sous l'ocean) and perform it for me...father-daughter bonding (always hard in middle school and on) and entertainment for me. Maybe I'll just make Dr. Scott perform Part of your world (partir la-bas) so me and Emily, his daughter, my 2nd cousin, can laugh it up.
Anyway, I ended up going to the concert not alone, which was pretty awesome, and then ended up with 3 friends and a friend's girlfriend (who's like a friend, b/c girlfriends must be included, its only right - and I've totally had some laughs with her)! Like whoa, I was expecting a solitary night of me and the music, which actually is pretty awesome, to tell the truth.
Anyway, we'll return to that later.
Ok GO was as amazing as I remember, though much more fashionable.

They once rapped to me in the street.
I do not lie.
They actually rapped to me and janna b/c we were fly ladies who were hanging out after the phantom planet concert that OK Go opened for. This concert was when phantom planet was still more popular than Maroon 5...like, throwback, y'all. Like, at the meet and greet I asked how they were doing, adn one guy said he'd give Jesse Carmicheal a hug for me...I was like, hm, not so great then. But look at'em now! I hope jesse gets some stardust, there's more to maroon 5 than Adam Levine, though he is a whole lotta delish. Anyway, OK go were tshirt and jeans kind-of-guys then. Now they like, sortof dress like Charles Dickens (which is suprisingly fetching...who am I kidding, its the opposite of suprising - I love ties, and I own a million, just about, and I would wear them like, everyday, but I feel weird dressing - every day - how I would want my boyfriend to dress - plus, I'm not K.d lang).

Their rap - which I do believe you can download off of something on the darker side of the internet - went a little like this:

Captain Kirk and Dr. Spock! WHat a lovely combination!
Boys and girls, what a lovely combination!
Diamonds and pearls, what a lovely combination!

and so on.

Janna and I swooned to their sweet sweet rhymes, and wondered, as so many girls often do - if the lead singer was gay. I think I have a bajilion things signed by them, now that I think of it, b/c it was just like, me, janna, Ok GO, and 20 14 year olds on the street that october night - the 17th, I believe...possibly the 11th...no it was Sept 10th! I remember b/c on the subway back some people were all freaking out b.c it was the anniversary of 9-11, and we were like, good concerts and life goes on.

Plus, I'd gotten to meet Max from Rushmore.

Anyway, at the post-Tale of Two Cities makeover show of OK Go, I think I literally bounced up and down for 3 hours straight.
Bitches be sore, y'all!

How can people not dance at concerts? What do they do instead?

I had a weekend of random conversation snippets with random people and it was qutie George Bailey-esque for me. One of these convos included me lamenting the lack of dancing...and I was saying that I could understand standing still with your arms crossed fpr hours in other situations, and that even I...but then i was like, hello! I never stand still with my arms crossed!
Like, I never do that. I'm too ebullient, I just am. My glee manifests itself in movement. WHy are people freaked out by that? I refuse to tone down my bubbliness -when I want to bubble, I bubble...b/c life's to serious as it is.
Back to begging the question, "why stand still at a concert?" - even at a party where I'm trying to act like I'm better than everyone else, I don't do it for longer than 3 minutes, which is under the length of even a song!
Not even at the airport....its the opposite of natural for me.
My friend agreed, and she's coming to mississippi nights with me over christmas break - I invited her mom, and I think she should come, too. Why should young people have all the fun, and get to do all the jumping?
I love that girl (her mom's cool, too), and she's so encouraging and hopeful for me, I hope I've done the same for her at some point in the 15+ years I've known her...its really only fair.
I was just thinking about how you have to be a sortof renegade if you want to be positive and do good in this world/my circle of friends/family/aquaintances, and this occured to me :
If I ever get another cat, I'm going to name it Renegade...or Captain Von Trapp. For some reason, Bubbles (my cat) just didn't seem to have the necessary countenatnce to be named Captain Von Trapp.

Anyway, found out this weekend that I turned a pal of mine onto Elvis Costello...same pal who told me a few weeks ago that I'd introduced him to Phantom Planet...may all just be a flash in the pan for that fella, but for me, i'm like, someone listened and liked it! Phantom planet, suuure, they're asy enough to love, but to continue to like elvis on a know-the-lyrics basis? I don't know, but the whole elvis thing -- a super heart-wrenching big deal. I just remember how grateful I was to have a little costello in my life - to know that I gave him to someone else, well its awesome, and I don't think what I'm saying ia a bit cheesy. I hope the albums found him at the perfect time, like they found me. It was like they were written for me the day before I listened to them, the tracks - especially from Costello's first 3 albums. I have one particularly charismatic high school teacher to thank for that.
Whatever, pat on the back for me for being awesome and not even knowing it.

I had weird dreams last night. I only remember 2/3.
Weirdest: I was like, supervising a sleepover of 9 year olds in the basement of the Kirkwood Crestwood youth theatre, and we were chatting it up about boys, make-up, etc...and there were all these guys (from my past, I think) showing up and like, oogling over my boobs, until finally one particularly rotten egg from the days of yore shows up. I end up really reading him the riot act, and then some, and he gets all mad and friend-breaks up with me b/c I was like, talking about how I liked him or something and how he was so annoying a million years ago and still is, etc... typical why are you a tool sort of girl v/s guy yelling. Anyway, I was all upset and this 9 year old made fun of me and I gave it right back to her. It was then that I realized I had no reason tobe upset, and that I'd lashed out against a 9 year old. Weird.
Weird-ish: I was at grad school at Columbia in NY, and I was trying to get to commencement. APparently, if you "turn left at the Indian" at any graduation ceremony ANYWHERE, you will get to commencement ceremonies and where you should sit. I ended up at an estrucian (an ancient people, much like mesopotamians) excavation site that used to be much more rustic (ti was in one of my other dreams, supposedly) but was now a museum of sorts. I remember remarking to I think my mom and dad, "my, how far the estrucian excavation site has come!" ANyway, it was next to this circus arena with a really pretty victorian theatre facade...i think in another dream I'd amost gotten in a fatal accident here with some circus equiptment. ANyway, it was much nicer now and there was a lot of hustle and bustle. Did I mention that Columbia univerisy was sortof located on the Greek Isles? Like, I think I saw some parthenon-esque structure on top of a hill, towards which I may've been trying to go. There were lots of roling green hills, cliffs and glistening blue seas - i know that much. I also know that I would not ask for directions, nor woud I call Liz, b/c I'd asked her for directions before and I was not about to ask again. I went to the indian a lot more times, and looking back, I think I turned right instead of left. I wasn't really worried though. And that was the end of that.

ANd I forgot the other one! But it was weird.
The break-up dream was super weird - the whole boob angle, not really getting that - but it was very emotionally weighty. Probably ties into my having been so boy-crazy this last couple of days.

I clearly need to just start exersizing again. I remember I used to be plagued by my own thoughts in New Hampshire, but then I started running 3miles every morning and it was like clarity had finally found me - all despite my wicked unrequited crush on a camp counselor with a heart of gold, I held out rather well! It felt very dramatic and romantic, trying to literally run from love that I knew wasn't chasing me.

Ok, I'm done turning phrases for the night - its been real!
~Lori

I hate weekends

You always say you're going to get something done during them, and that so seldom happens.
How did I seemingly get so much done in high school? Was it lists? Did I have a planner?
I think I need a day planner, that way, days will get planned!
Why do I worry so much about everything?

I'm beginning to hate this blog. This should explain why I'm seldom writing in it for those of you who happen to read it on the flip or the flop.

I'm sure it's only temporary - I'm pretty stressed out, as much as I don't like using that term. For not liking it, i sure use it a lot.
Anyway, a lot's been going on behind the curtains lately with job searching and overall life evaluating and other such things that we 20 something's seem to think we're entitled to do and lament over so often. I've also been really boy-crazy for the last 2 days, and I can think of one very probable reason why, but decorum prevents me from stating it here.

Hint: It starts with and H and rhymes sortof with Ramones, and I blame them for everything, and I think rightly so.

You know what? While I'm here I suppose I'll blog on about some things.
On second thought, I hate it when I think I can do that. I may as well go tell it to the hand.
Or my mom.
She always seems to agree with me, except when its about like, ok, well a lot of things.
Well, whatever. It'll all work out in the end.

My fingers hurt

I've been playing the guitar and piano a lot recently, and my fingers hurt. Perhaps its the pain that you're supposed to feel if you are a musician. I would be more inclined to think that the sort of pain musicians require is more along the lines of "oh my girl, she's gone" sort of pain, rather than, "ow, the tips of my fingers are frickin' bruised." I also had glass in my foot, and now it hurts! Damn! But none of this, of course, stopped me from going to see Marc Broussard. Might have to be equally as resolute to go see Ok Go, though I'm not as dedicated to the proposition that all their music will be life-altering as I was when it came down to a solo appearance for Marc.

Today I woke up late - too much chatting and looking at Google Earth with the buddies last night at chez Wamble. For some reason everyone was very self conscious that night- lots of "oh aren't we nerds to be discussing medival torture devices," etc... etc... this sortof sub-commentary really gets in the way of me learning that chastity belts had SPIKES on them! Ouch! Is that really necessary?
Seriously, is it? This is a terrifying side of human nature. Ugh, don't want to think about it.
Speaking of terrifying, I wore an Ann Taylor Loft outfit today, thinking I would be working there - but my shift got cut! It was rough.
I did look very professional for my internship, though. Not that it matters, as everyone seems to wear jeans. Oh you genre busting Generation Y and you're demands for flip flop appropriate dressing. Elegance is dying a slow and painful death, as my generation tightens its strangle-hold every day. Anyway, I do think I got to write 30 words about a Pink Floyd Tribute concert. Its a start. Even I'll admit that I don't have the practice to write features - yet. Though I wrote in like 3 languages everyday for 4 years, it doesn't really count for much other than being able to know your mind is well developed. And no, not over developed...those who'll tell others that their minds are overdeveloped by their snooty ivy league degrees (wharton doesn't count in this scenario, nor other business schools) are the sortof people who are making Stephen Colbert's job that much easier. I'm making unnecessarily complicated comparisons.
In light of attempting to move past 30 word nuggets of brilliance, i'm going to try to write more in this old not-a-journal piece of crap...no offence. I still can't stop hating blogs, though I just love reading my friends' and don't hate theirs at all.
Stranger things have happened.
After I came home from work my cousins and their kids came over.
Man, I just love that family.
I did my best to contribute to posterity by teaching my kindergarten cousin how to dance. He did a good job, even with the karate,break-dancing and gymnastics he would occasionally throw in. His eventual enthusiasm for dancing with me only served to reinforce my firm(er) belief that 6 year olds make the best boyfriends, like, EVER.
Anyway, it was joy, as we danced around my kitchen to, "Don't Change Horses."
Ok, I'm going to quit while I'm ahead here - my fingers hurt!

Marc Broussard - LEGIT

Hey y'all, its been a while!

I havn't been posting b/c my life got sortof mundane for a while there after I did NOT get to be the next kelly clarkson. Not yet at least. For now, its just strictly karaoke until I get (a LOT) better at guitar and piano - since none of my instrument-playing friends will ever let me sing for/with them, and for that I think, you know who you are, they are very lame - and then I'll blow some fish out of the water.

Until that day comes, I'll just go on singing Dear Diary, I'm not a Girl..., Tribute and other requests to my favorite non-instrumentalists.

Anyway, this is not what I want to talk about.

I went alone to a concert last night - something that I havn't really done since my swing dancing days (which aren't over, despite the whole foot-death thing - which is a whole 'nother story, as they say) and IT WAS AMAZING, and I don't think my life will ever be the same.

I got there late, b/c I had no money and was trying to find that AND someone to accompany me on my pilgrimage...luckily I found money, but I found no compatriots.
But no matter! I had on a really really cute outfit, the well wishes of my out of town homies, and had enough dough to park close so I wouldn't get attacked by creepy Mississippi River people.
And those who had a shot at greatness are sorry they missed out on 2 hours of joy...as well as for losing mega points with me.
Never turn down Mississippi Nights, hello!!!? Its always guaranteed to be ridiculously obscuretastic...and on a weeknight? Even better!

(I'm writing this at work, so if it sounds choppy, its b/c i have to keep on switching to Outlook so as not to blow my cover...but I'm not getting paid, so its a fine line between me not caring and not caring at all - still, its good to keep appearances)

Anyway, kids.
The opening band to the opening band i missed. I caught some poseur connecticutians, The Alternative Route, trying to be a nashville band - their slow songs were deliciously bluesy and verging on soulful, but something (i think it was the bass) was just missing. The drummer was also really stuck on using only one rhythm - so much you noticed, "hey, he's only using one rhythm." This is not good. The rest of the songs were like, blah blah, interesteing line, blah - even though the lead singer did have quite the voice and a pretty connecticut preppy face. I was like, hello, when can I dance to some sweet bayou music.
(FYI: To get to my dad's/my family's farm, you have to cross The Bayou, where there are totally trees swinging in the breeze and logs adrift, just like you'd imagine. Across from the Bayou is the Bennett's General store - only building for miles, where my dad's vagabond-with-a-heart-of-gold friend lives with his dad, whom everyone calls, "Brother." I might be mixing up some of this, but I want to paint a picture here of the small part of me that is really feelin' the bayou vibes.)
I danced with some old ladies on the last song of the Alternative Route, and it was joyful enough.

Then we're waiting for marc. He comes on and looks like my cousin trevor with sortof a jack black lookin' face. Interesting combo - duly noted.
Anyway, he starts playing and like, doesn't stop for 2 hours! Each song goes into the next, and he does these cool little seawalk-esque dances that I can just see him doing with his little buddies on the streets of Louisiana when he was 5.
Why did me and my friends play "mother may I" and wiffleball when we were 5??? WHYYYY!? We could've been studying blues guitar and doing some funky dancing on the streets together, yar!
Marc Broussard, for those of you that aren't as in the know as I, had a random free download on itunes, and yes, I downloaded it and loved it, but didn't bother to buy the cd, though the song kept on being so appropriate to all my playlists. My sister says it is a good song for walking down the street, & feelin' good.

About a school year later I saw this video on VH1 (I know, it was late at night - like really late) and i was like, oh man, that is so good, those people partying on the bayou -- and it was none other than marc broussard! So then I saw he was at mississippi nights and I had not moved to new york and it was fate. We were destined to meet on the Mississippi, as only two mississippi people can! Through some sweet soul music!

!

Did I mention that he wears hats?



Anyway, the music has all these cool breaks that are so well timed that you can't breathe during them and the basist and lead guitarist were blowing my mind. And no, I was not distracted by the drummer doing the same rhythm over and over again. The music and marc himself were like, al green meets maroon 5 meets gavin degraw meets james brown meets stevie wonder meets CCR meets the band that plays the theme song from the 80's tv show, Night Court.
Only like, a million times better.
I found myself in outbursts of screaming and stuff. It was wonderful!

Though my love for marc will not soon end, I'm going to finish this up in the interest of making something up for myself to do at my internship.

My reccomendation for you is to go pay your $17 and get Marc Broussard's album, Carenco (something along those lines) and get in touch with your inner bayou, b/c bayous will never not be cool.

What happened to Miss Independent?

In a week from now, I will have tried out for American Idol.

Is that ok?

Its making me a little kooky, and I'm none too excited about the line-waiting, and the sortof weight-iness of it all.

I'll sing a song, sleep in the car, have a road trip - these are all fun things and I'm at a point in my life where this is feasible, so ok - and it's not a big deal, and I'm going to stop visualizing someone stalking me or catching me doing something embarassing - I've decided that the worst thing I can do is fall. And that's really more funny than embarassing, and in the long run, American Idol is not about inner-ear strength, but rather singing and being cool. More singing though - I think.
Hell, I don't know.

I have just read way too many (try 5 in the past hour) celebrity magazines. Too much Lindsay Lohan gives me the heebie jeebies.

Heebie Jeebies - this is what followers of the cult of psychobabble might call "anxiety."

No offense though. I'm just trying to avoid the sort of narcissism that if provoked, self-diagnoses an array of clearly absent mental ilnesses. No, I'm not a scientologist, and I don't think bi-polar disorder can be cured with a brisk walk around the block, some enlightenment, and a V8. Just please don't try to diagnose me should you be prone to head-shrinker-esque behavior-- I'm from the Midwest, and I was born in Mississippi.

Everyone should understand what that means. (If you're reading this, you're probs my pal, so you already know. Forgive me the condecension. p.s. My writing style is weird tonight.)

But it's really just the heebie jeebies - I mean, that Lindsay Lohan girl is somethin' else, and by somethin' else I mean that she is just hateful. She's the girl that every mother dreads because she's the girl who is torturing her soulful and timid 7th grade daughter not merely explicitly, but simply by existing. Am I the only one who has noticed that Lindsay Lohan has turned into a plastic? (and that Rachel McAdams is like, the most adorable celeb since Jennifer Love Hewitt?) I saw too many pictures of ol' Linds, and too much unmerited praise of her. Hollywood is no meritocracy (SAT word!) Someone must have a really persuasive PR rep. That woman/man should be hired by the Democratic National Committee. Him/her and the guy who does the Target Ads.
Anyway...

She's a disney girl gone wrong and it makes me sad.

Walt Disney - from Missouri. Need I say more...?
Ok, Brad Pitt is also from Missouri, but he's a lame Sigma Chi frat boy from Mizzou - no one was really expecting eloquence from this fella. No one with a clue, that is. Yes, we all saw "A River Runs Through It" ...listen to his commentary on fight club -- our friend Eddie Norton was scoring way higher on the eloquence-o-meter. Ok, so he scored well as on the pretentious-o-meter, but he's a smartie and well all know smart movies and actor pretention go as hand in hand as Jude and Sienna do, post affair - how she doesn't dump him, I dont' know.

Don't tell me that he's Jude Law and he's so sizzlin' hot that only a fool would dump him.
Hello.
Paul Newman attractiveness was volcanic when he was Jude's age, and he still managed not to make a fool of himself and his wife, the lovely Joanne Woodward. Looks like there will never actually be a "next Paul Newman" - b/c last time I checked, the magazines were bestowing such an honor upon Matthew McCaughnehey and yep, Jude Law.
No dice, People (and US Weekly, etc..etc...).

Ok, 1,2,3, eyes on me.
Maybe its just weird to see all these people who are my age looking at me funny from the pages of a magazine.

Whatever! The fact is, it was a pretty day today, it will probably be pretty tomorrow, eventually I will find a place to lay my head long-term in NYC and the dough to pay for it, but for now - I'm going to clean my room.

First things first,
~Lori

Keg parties w/ dental students -- scary!

Did anyone see Little Shop of Horrors?
Does anyone think that the dentist character in that movie isn't really so much of an exaggeration of what your dentist probably is like (even if they hide it well)?
I do.

So it was a little on the creepy side of things when I found myself at a kegger full of physical therapy and dental grad students. Granted, nothing really happened...well, this one guy did tilt his girlfriend upside down and pretty much drop her on her head, and then some guy creepers were like, pretending to have sex while others took pictures...clothes on! no worries, it wasn't THAT kind of party! Euw! -- ok, maybe something happened, but it was nothing somethings. I also met a guy who worked at a magnet school and he told me all about it - sounded interesting, but he ran away. He did help me to figure out that a lot of cool people did not go to middle school in kirkwood, but rather opted for private/magent options. How wise their parents must've been! Beyond their years - and don't get me wrong, my parents are awesomely wise, but we're all sortof learning as we go. It's good to be the oldest child. J/k.

Before attending the semi-awkwardly debaucherous kegger of grad students, my friends and I were lucky enough to see a friend of mine from freshman year (in high school) French class lay down some rhymes at the Hi Pointe. This means he rapped. Aside from the fact that it was seriously lacking in danceability (something I think is quite important) and the whole misogynistic undertones (yes I pulled that from Clueless) - I totally dug it. My friend is clearly the Justin of his 3 man rap group, and he needs to push the other 2 "out the way" as they say. They're like, Lance and that dreadlock dude. And work on the beats, you need better hooks.
I believe they can do it. They were called like, frozen spaceship casserole or somethin' - look out for'em.

I again drank a tough broad (as christened by becca s, suggested/adopted by blythe) and it was strong, and cheap. Then came the keg. All in all, a good and low key night w/ new people!

Next up, operation job search.

I applied for 12 jobs within the last 24 hours! That's a job every 2 hours. Not bad.

I'm sure to get one soon if I keep this up - I'm getting very ambitious with nothing to do (other than be ambitious and cultivate some wanderlust).

I'm very sorry for having nothing really to report to you - I wish I could share a funny tale here or there, but really, I've just been surfing the old joblistings, craigslist, and checking my e-mails for replys. It's not sad, though - its more exciting now that I know how I want to start.

Now that I konw what to do, hopefully I'll get a gig substitute teaching soon - that should provide some golden stories.

peace out!

~Lori

Frankly, the only way to ask me out.

...and I'm not really kidding. Yeah, not kidding.

(names have been changed to make it more REAL)

Letter of invitation to a dance

Dear Lori,
The social club of which I am a member is giving a dance Saturday March 20 at the Hotel Delano. May I have the pleasure of your company there?
You will enjoy meeting the members of my club who are all good dancers, good fellows and -- don't make comparisons, now! -- good looking. Incidentally, your friend Aimee is coming with "Moose" Fitzgerald, whom you may know. We've engaged a fine orchestra -- Sandy Jamieson's -- and some of the boys have arranged a brief entertainment. You are sure to have a pleasant evening.
If you can come, please let me know at what time I may call for you.

Sincerely yours,
Frankie O'Dell

*excerpt from NEW Standard Book Model of Letters for All Occasions,
by Leo J. Henkin, Ph. D. Assistant Professor of English, Brooklyn College
pub. 1953

Good news!

The army dude from the "Wake Me up when September Ends" video IS Billy Elliot!


= zing!

New Day, New resume

Today marks the day I finish my new resume and really get a hold on things. Like, everything.
Happy tuesday everyone, hopefully I'll have good news when I'm back!
~Lori

"Once upon a time there was a goddess and a hunter..."

This is the beginning of the commercial for the new Britney Spears perfume - Fantasy - everybody has one. A fantasy, that is, not a commercial for perfume.

I think Ryan Cabrera would be really fun on a date. Especially if you got to splash around in the ocean with him.

Speaking of fun, and of fantasy, my friend Frizz just got married last friday! It was pretty glorious - they turned on the fountain after the whole "kiss the bride" part. You know, it was precious. Becca S. came into town for the festivities. It was reminiscent of a high school reunion, only minus the "oh no what will everyone think" nerves. Maybe its just me, but I thought - i mean, i've seen movies - that reunions were supposed to be tense. Anyway, I wore a cool dress, and had some drinks, and danced the night away with some 7 year olds.

7 year olds are amazing. They are so fun! I was driven away from the older kiddies - I can seriously only take people saying, "only you, lori, only you can do that!" so many times before I flee. Especially when apparently "only I" can wear a dress, have a few drinks and dance. I don't wanna hate, but come on - i'm not that impressive. But the 7 year olds - they are!

And they ALL have such pretty highlights, too!

So after the wedding, Ian was nice enough to take me and Becaa S. to the Atomic Cowboy, which was more full than usual of gay dudes. But I wasn't noticing.

I did notice that Becca W. had disappeared with a boy, in a different car. But hey, i said a little prayer - she's a tough lady and she knows what she wants, and occasionally - she gets it. Anyway, at A.C. I ended up talking to once creepy guy named Vince, and some other dude who was his friend. i don't know how, but suddenly i was talking to them. They were both wearing collared shirts - which I guess if you're a straight guy you think registers in girls' minds as "oooh, he's a classy one." Well i'm not so easily fooled, even though I talked to them for a loooong time.

Its a good thing, however, that I know how to scare'em off with my sharp intellect. I give myself snaps for heckling the civil engineer friend with some mad Fountainhead trivia. Boo yah! I read books and remember the characters within them, even AFTER a wedding reception. I called him a Peter Keating, but then I called him Howard Roark, b/c that's mean. See, check me out. I was like, drunk cliff notes.

Whatever, they soon wandered/were scared away and then I went to dance to some techno. Yes, its possible. I don't remember if I was alone or not on the dance...though I do remember ian being nearby. Maybe i waved at him, i'm not sure. I was trying to dance off the alcohol!

Props to Ian, yall. He is a patient man. I think i adjusted his tie like, 40 times, and/or told him to loosen up via his tie. I like ties! Sue me. I just remember repeating "wall street dimple, wall street dimple!" a lot. Hm.

Becca S. and I later made a brilliant appearance at Steak and Shake. Cheese fries.

Ok breifly next evening - it was interesting/gruelling. We decide its time for blueberry hill, so we go, grab a booth and a pitcher. Becca S's friends come and they are serious douchebags. I know Becca could not have been THAT good of friends with them.

So i sortof yelled back when they were buttheads.

Sigh. Leave it to needlessly arrogant boys who are in that put-down mode that we were all supposed to have grown out of when we were 11 to really bring out the Julia Sugarbaker in me.
It was a zesty challenge, and I'm all for a little sparring with people who clearly deserve it, regardless of their limited vocabularies and brain capacities, but all in all, I did enough defending of myself at Penn to really see so completely through it and to not really revel in it so much.

The walls people put up to conceal their own insecurities, people - those walls are made of glass. Its like a 2 sided mirror, and I'm not on the mirrored side - i just look through and see someone primping their own ego. I do it, too, but this was ridiculous.

Anyway, we later went to the Delmar lounge and ended up stealing some cigarettes and meeting some insecure law school students. "Law School" (as we called him) was all arrogant and alterna-nerdy. He's lucky he was tall. I saw the whole ambivalent & aloof smart guy act at school - you're not fooling anyone, Law School. But whatever, me and Becca S. talked to Law School for a bit and then left - I told him to study hard and he got mad. Weirdo.

He later ran up to us as we were walking away, said it was on a dare, and Becca S. threw a rolled up paper at him. He was mad/it hurt his head, but he deserved it. We're worth more than a dare. Anyway, in the spirit of my sister who has been having such fun with the locals in London, i dedided that we ought to accompany them (at their invitation, of course) to their flat for cocktails (i.e. a really really cheap beer - they're students, after all) and a slice of vermont white cheddar. The local flava was interesting enough. At least they weren't construction workers, and after I used my Nancy Drew skills, i knew they were obviously telling the truth about the whole Law school thing. Yay, no lies, no creepiness, and they were smart. At least the nerdy friend of Law School (the guy who got hit w/ the newspaper never told us his name b/c he's a weirdo) that I talked to for a half hour or so was pretty smart and engaging. The evening ended semi interestingly, but frankly, not that interestingly enough for me to write down. I think it was a full moon though.

The next day mom and I went to greentree and I got to talk to the mayor, who is awesome, and not an awkward grown up, like so many others. later, my mom and I both got to bond heavy-duty with the chicken pita guy - he was totaly wise and awesome, to say the least - and he told me to be picky with my boyfriends b/c i was an attractive lady, and smart! He told us all about his kids and how proud he was, and told my mom to be very proud of us, too. I love the old wise dad types. Mr. Chicken Pita, I salute you!

Today I made baklava and cleaned. I am officially a wife without a husband.
This has got to stop.

That does it. I don't want to do anything else at all until I have a functional resume, semi-gainful employment, and a pending apartment in NY.

Goodbye nostalgia, goodbye partying, goodbye money spending, goodbye late sleeping, and goodbye too-much-VH1-watching.

So I'll see you then,
~Lori

p.s. check out the riverdance reenactment of the American revolution (i think), dance-off style. It's pretty much the most amazing thing I've seen in a while. Its a really really good dance off. It's rivaling the beginning of West Side Story, everyone's favorite dance off scene. Thank you, PBS, and God bless America (please)!

St.Louis, magic around every ghetto corner where there are immigrants working in a strangely well-lit warehouse

So, a couple of nights ago - right when I was feeling more like looking for jobs, and rewriting my resume, cover letters, etc... - I picked up my Alive magazine and went on a fantastic tour of Hipster St. Louis. It really was lovely, and it was one of Carolyn's last nights in this lovely city before she gets to go to Washington D.C. to relish the feeling of being an anonymous face in a crowd - so of course we HAD to go out.

First we went to the Moolah temple, which is now a movie theatre/apartment complex/bowling alley. Of course I almost ran over Jacob as he was crossing the street there b/c I seriously cannot NOT run into him. He'll have to like, be one of my male-bridesmaids at my wedding b/c he'll probably be there anyway, even if he's not invited (by some freak chance that I don't see him again for another 20 years...yeah right). I like it that we always run into each other, it makes me feel like the world isn't all that chaotic. It's cosmic, and I dig it, and I know that it is Fate stepping in to make me smile and remember the good times when we'd look at the real estate section together. Besides, Jacob's really pretty and always has on a cool outfit - that alone would make me happy...and it does! Fate could pick someone a little more straight for me to always run into, but he'll do just fine, thank you.

The bowling alley lounge wasn't really that cool, so we went to the Atomic Cowboy - a place I wish i'd found about 4 months ago b/c I really really liked the vibe. Who knew that Chouteau (as carolyn how to prounounce it) turns into Manchester! Amazing. Around vandeventer we saw the strange late-nite warehouse workers.

Hmm. Anway, atomic cowboy. would've liked it more if the DJ were playing me some old-school Whitney Houston instead of creepy german techno, but frankly, it was a techno place, so hey, they had to play techno. If I'd heard Jackson 5, I would've been certain that the entire joint was choc-full and plein des poseurs. And it may have already been, but at least w/ the techno, it didn't seem so bad. Wish I'd had a fun friend who'd dance w/ me for hours, instead of minutes - but techno doesn't move everyone. Wish I'd had a fun (gay) friend who'd dance w/ me for hours, instead of minutes - but techno doesn't move everyone the way I pretend it moves me...we all know I'd rather cut a rug to some old crunchy sinatra& tommy dorsey records.

Aside from it not being 1942, a frequent critique of mine, I liked it - exposed brinck and early 60's mod furniture, and CHEEEEEEAP drinks (so key) and funky people in glasses, though there were girls doing their best Kristin from Laguna Beach impression w/ funky layers and gauchos (but i'm trying not to judge, live and let live, live and let live). Everyone struck me as late 20's graphic designers and their gay friends and trashy girl-friends whom they probably met at lindbergh high school but still hang out with. I dug it, even the oldies seemed to be chill, if not a little out-of-place. But who cares!

Qualm: No one noticed my Puck Frinceton shirt! Was it over their heads? Too vulgar perhaps? Too blatantly educated and school related? Were the would-be commenters intimidated by my luminous youth? It was a cool outfit - it like, came to me in a vision. Whatever!

Ok, perhaps the giant print of Andy Warhol wearing an american flag on the wall signaled a little heavy-handed on the I'm seriously cool and not trying-o meter, and it may've been slightly unpatriotic for this Girls State alumna -- but hey, Andy Warhol is cool, and if they're trying to aim for that genre of cool, far be it from me to say, hey, you guys are fakes, stop opening cool bars to which I actually want to return.

I had fun! I liked it! I sat on what appeared to be a sanded down log-bench/surfboard/carpenter cutting table thing. The whole lounge was cool, sortof reminded me of John Lennon's room in HELP - only minus the awesome bed (bonus points for you if you actually know what I'm talking about) that I will have someday - maybe in my loft in NYC, and not in my single stlye home in Charleston -- but that's all to be determined, though the dreams are very much intact.

Oooh ok, sidenote on dreams -
I had a dream last night that I was tangled up in some mobster plot that was all occuring during the time before a Jason Mraz concert in what appeared to be Miami. I like, moved a car and left the blinker on, and that didn't make some creepy balding mobster in a white suit too happy, so he had his friend in a grey suit take me to a hotel. The white suit man owned Riddles Pennultimate in the Loop - I just remembered that! (though I've met the owner, and him and creepy white suit man could not be any MORE different) I think I thought they were like old-school roadies or something b/c I was like, Ok!

At the entrance we saw Jason, who apparently knew this mobster (and I think was under the impression that this mobster was his manager-type guy, and i think I was like, his aquaintance b/c he seemed happy that I'd found love in this geezer...weird). Jason like, sang us a cute little love song medley that was beautiful, and I sortof went with it, b/c I didn't really know that I was walking to my somewhat immanent (imminient? i hate this word) death. So I play along, bein all, yeah we're in love sure, la la la - even though he's like 58-67 years old -just to save face for the creepy old mobster - who I thought was just another ye olde dudde - who has me by the arm, and jason peaces quickly out the door after his serenade (what a creeper). Do you think he had a hand in my planned assasination? We're never gonna know.

So I'm led into this closet-like room that's like carpeted all around with really short grey carpet ('cept the ceiling, its just like, ceiling tiles..the ones that crumble) and the lighting is terrible and the guy tells me that someone isn't happy and the odds are 5-35 in poker (?!) that he's going to play with me that he will have to kill me. So i'm like, well, maybe I'll win 6 games or something and then where will we be? But he's like, no, you won't. And I'm like, ok, well lets try - since I'm stuck in a room w/ an old guy.

Last thing i remember is we were playing and I was doing a mean poker face. Maybe I won, maybe I didn't - I don't know! But I'm a tough lady, and I've seen Rred Eye, so I bet I could've got him...only i didn't have a pen, nor was there any furniture in the creepy grey closet room to throw at him. Hmm.

Weird, huh? And I watched The Notebook last night! I would've hoped to have dreamed about beautiful Carolinian marshland sunset vistas, graceful seabirds and row boats, coordinated gloves, hats and wedges, cute jumpers and let's not forget ferris wheels and waltzing in the southern streets at night. But NO.
Creepy jason mraz mobster dream.

Anyway, back to Hipster night. We next went to The Royale, props to Kristin for the rec - and it was swell! Carolyn got some dudes to talk to us and they were having a cucumber and rum cocktail (which was only $6!)...most of the drinks there were named after hip areas of St. Louis. Too bad there wasn't a "The Kirkwood" cocktail - wonder what I'd put in that. Hmm. The drinks were cheap there and the company lovely - sortof a younger more suburban clientele than Atomic Cowboy - but there were a'plenty of cool hats and interesting frames and people smoking. This one gal had short red hair in these big shiny curls that were all half pinned haphazardly on top of her head and she was just the cutest ever w/ her grey trousers and her hipster boyfriend who didn't really need his glasses. I just though she was so smiley and cool.

Next, we went to Mangia Italia, which was crowded, but not on the dance floor where Carolyn and I went to dance to the tongue-in-cheek trashy country sounds of The Round Ups. It was rowdy, and I'd had a hankerin' for some live music for some time. Next we went to the city diner for some of their delish food, and I stole some of becca's potatoes and took unfocused pictures of the chandelier and cool print of John Lennon by the Statue of Liberty.

Man, what the world needs now is a little John Lennon - Green Day is not cutting it for icons and anthems of peace. No, Black Eyed Peas isn't cutting it either as much as I do love Fergie and her accesories and whimsical style that's oh so Gwen Stefani, but not.

Hello!??! Awesome.

I don't think anyone undertands how COOL she is. Toy monkey!?!? GEEEEEnius! I'm seriously like, going out of my mind trying to think of an appropriate time to get a toy monkey and attach it to my belt and hit the clubs. Maybe I should throw "appropriate" out the window and wear one to frizz's wedding, complete w/ the wrastlin' boots...well,ok ok ok fine. But if not then, soon!

Plus, Fergs probably got to hang out with Ryan "Creepy Dreamboat" Gosling b/c he was in the mickey mouse club and she on Kids Incorporated. Totally missed my calling there - obvi.

Did you know that Kids Incorporated did a cover of Elvis Costello's "Angels Wanna Wear my Red Shoes" --? Those kids were so much more than over-permed hair and co-ed suspenders. THey were innovators. I mean, they were incorporated!!

Anyway, hipster night - I was pretty much happy everywhere we went, but since I wasn't in my own little world, but rather sharing the world w/ my 3 buddies, I had to sortof consider others. My company seemed bored/aggravated the entire time, so we didn't get to really test out the 3am-ness of all the bars b/c we were hopping so much and so quickly to avoide hunger, boredom, techno music, and smoke that was burning our eyes...many things I would not have noticed, as I was desensitized by the $2.50 blue moon pints (not by their quantity - I was driving - but by the sheer affordability of it all).

I should stop being so happy wherever I go (as long as its not dull and there's a bar) and start being more picky. I'm such a snob though! hm. Oh well, i'll just live it up until i have to be serious and seriously poor in New York - though i can hardly wait.

But still, I'm a Kirkwood girl, and I really think its important not to abandon your home in some dramatic gesture to prove you're an individual and that you've moved on. I think you've shown you've moved on (if that's even the idea, which I'd argue that maybe it isn't) if you're able to maintain your ties to places that would "hold back" other personalities. Think about it, I think i'm right. Right for me at least.

But Danny Deckchair (which I'm watching again right now) - he had to float away to another town on a chair w/ helium baloons attached to it to really move on. So - tomay-toe, to-mah-toe.
I always say that for a reason. Not concerning world politics (p.s. I'm so glad the 9/11 anniversay is over) - but relationships, let's not call the whole thing off b/c of semantics.

Now I've just got to find a dress and a hat for the wedding - its stressing me out big time.
I'll find something, just like the penguins found each other,
~Lori

I'm partying my life away

Last night the gang and I went to The Big Bang - and it was like, 2 guys playing old favorites on the piano, and everyone would sing along. Somewhere along the line I decided I needed to drink more - and I did. Maybe it was all the Cardinals jerseys - but I think it was probably when the piano dudes started playing the Mizzou fight song that I was like hello bartender. The place was fun though, but you know, the clientele. We tried to go to the Atomic Cowboy after, but ended up at my house, b/c it was east of mccausland and not west. (the cowboy place, not my house) Fooled me! And I was the only one up for the adventure. It was a generally great time - but I've gotta hold back on this drinking business or the wedding won't seem like an exciting moment at all, but rather just another night of drinking at an exciting place.

Danny Deckchair, you are a wonderful film.

Danny Deckchair - best movie since Groundhog Day.

Rhys Ifans? Amazing!

So I just took Blythe out to her first time at the Chocolate Bar.
If it were possible, i would marry blythe.
We have a good thing going.
She inspires me to attempt to use proper punctuation in my blog, beacause her prose is so inspired an correct, and she's an amazing journalist.

Anyway, I had a wonderful time. And I had this beer, O'fallon Summer Brew, that tasted a lot like White Rain Almond Shampoo. At first, I considered Dial soap, but Blythe, as she helps me through many things, ultimately led me to diagnosis: White Rain. We called the number on the bottle and Blythe left them a message about their overall soapiness. She also was kind enough to offer some constructive criticism upon the subject of their label and its terrible-ness.

Man, Blythe, you are awesome.

People like Blythe help me to remember that I'm not so much crazy as much as I am awesome. And I'll be she didn't even mean to do that. Like, everyone should have someone to pretty much validate them in every way, but not like in an enabling way. I'm overwhelmed; I'm a lucky gal. Am I gushing? Yes! Do I believe in the power of gushing? Absolutely! Gotta own the outbursts of feeling. Gotta. I like, love Blythe - like Tom Cruise outburst style.

Am I drunk? Maybe! Not really though. Someday I'll write a song or book about it. You know, I can't even begin to begin, so I just won't. I'll just say, I'm beginning to know who I want to be in my wedding, if and when it occurs. Forget the if, though.

And Ty F----, and the principal of Keysor are defnitely invited - just for fun.