Castaway.

Love love love waking up to good music.

Chore-charted waters & the nag of distant academia.

Whenever I have a day off from work, I always get very overwhelmed by the space of it. This usually results in me spending at least half of said day in bed, either asleep or pretending to be. But today I resolved to fill every free moment with something that needed to get done, and I'm pretty sure I succeeded. I did three loads of laundry, mailed the first check I've ever written, wrote three poems (much overdue - I was close to losing my lead on the 365 project!), washed a million dishes, cleaned out the refrigerator, changed my sheets, basically got serious about chore time. And I feel great because of it.

This man -



- has been staring at me all day. I guess it's not a typical occurrence for anyone to be home with him all day long, so he must be at least slightly confused. I've been trying to catch him to snuggle for the better part of the night, but in spite of being fat, he is a lot faster than he seems.

Off in academia (yeah, I forgot I was a part of such blustering too...), my schedule for the semester keeps getting turned on its ear, and then its nose, and then its elbow, and so on. A few days ago, one of the professors I'm close with emailed me to invite me to TA a first-year tutorial on inclusive fiction (what a wonderful phrase), and I obviously got very excited. As a close second to writing, I love assisting others in their own writing above most other things. Besides bacon, long highway drives, and finishing novels of course. In corresponding with her about the course and what my responsibilities would be, she inquired about my intentions for scheduling, specifically if I was planning on taking the Div III creative writing research seminar in the fall. I immediately pulled up my iCal and made the according alterations. So much for this being a relaxing last year. Although I'm fairly certain that if I got back to Hampshire and suddenly wasn't busting my ass, I would become very disoriented, if not outright despondent. So I am mentally preparing myself for some serious juggling. I would be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled about this.

Tomorrow is "Day Off: Part 2", and I'm not entirely sure how to spend it after running all of my errands today. The summer is quickly winding down (soon the juggling will commence!), and I'm not sure where exactly it got to. Thankfully, I went swimming for the second time of the season (criminal!!) Wednesday night after Kait and I finished breaking down from a wine tasting we worked together. We bring bathing suits in the car with us always, so we decided that as a remedy to the unbearable humidity we were just going to jump in the ocean. Nevermind that we did not have towels. Such formality has never concerned us before. And that swim was one of the best choices I've ever made. I don't think I've ever felt more refreshed in my life. It was the perfect cap to an otherwise perfect day (I sat in the Gansett laundromat and wrote for hours before work, and one of the owners of the restaurant told me that I had a job there indefinitely if I wanted it). I am a happy camper, to say the least. Now all I need is a giant cup of White Electric coffee and some non-neurotic to snuggle with occasionally and I will be the happiest I could possibly be.

I leave you with the soundtrack to this happiness, my Last.fm Top Ten from the past week.



Happy Friday!

Points of interest.

This Rock Man knows what's up. Check out his life philosophy in The Point.

In my travels through the land of bite-sized reading (and a seemingly endless laundry day), here are a few I couldn't help but share.

* Latent sexism at the box office, especially in movies supposedly targeted at women? You're not the only one who's noticed.

* Shabby chic, the flannel craze, starving artist as fashion icon: welcome to the life of the new economic top dog social group, the poorgeoisie.

* Planning your end of summer North American tour (a la White Lightning)? Nylon rounded up pit-stop suggestions from A Camp.

* PSI's National Poetry Slam 2009 kicks off in mere days, and though I'm not sure Florida August is my cup of tea, I am endlessly jealous of the fun to be had at this block party of lovers and lunatics.

* A habit I have been training myself not to succumb to: falling for the "bad boy". A few answers about why that jerk is somehow still magnetic, even when he blows you off for the thousandth time.

Enjoy the spoonfuls of wisdom, and let me know if you find anything interesting yourself.

Lungcakes and midnight fingernails.

Today was generally uneventful (I wanted to go to the beach before work but was thwarted by my sleep schedule), except for the above-pictured accomplishments. Lung-shaped pancakes and freshly lacquered nails. A good morning, I'd say. Although I was pretty disappointed in the Sally Hansen nailpolish I bought. In spite of being doubly awesome (both black and glitter at the same time? hell yessss) in theory, the stuff was very goopy going on. We'll see if it lives up to the "no chip" claim on the label, which could redeem it in the end.

Bit-sized literary fixes.

I hate to admit this, because I am pretty ashamed of it, but I have not been able to find time for my reading list this summer. I was very ambitious when I made the thing back in May, but it is just not happening. I have this guilty relationship with novels that functions like this: if I don't have at least three hours to commit at a time, I don't want to even attempt one. It's silly and very nerdy, but it's the truth. But I've been finding ways around this silliness by making new best friends with other forms of reading. Short story collections are a godsend. My current bedfellow:



Inspired by a Lester Bangs short story based on the Rod Stewart song "Maggie May", Lit Riffs is something I fall into between coming and going between work and the real world (though I haven't seen much of the real world lately). I've also been reading more poetry (specifically, Heavy Lead Birdsong). And then there are my mushrooming list of followed blogs. But I do long for a really juicy novel. There is a whole shelf of them right near my bed, but the days just aren't long enough lately.

I can tell what you're thinking...

So during my summer of intensive (albeit sometimes poorly executed) female empowerment, I have been making a serious effort to rediscover girl-power moments from my past. This has involved repeat love affairs with Alanis Morisette's Jagged Little Pill & Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville, repeated viewings of Drop Dead Gorgeous, lots of time spent with Virginia, and as many bonding excursions with Kait as I can manage. But perhaps one of the more important rediscoveries of recent weeks is a little eight-year-old pop album I used to hear a lot in dance class way back in the day.

Kylie Minogue's Fever was called a come-back album, but I was too young when it came out to see it as such. In my mind, it was just the CD I left in my Discman for at least a solid six months (if not considerably longer). I was at an age where sexiness was a quality that had just entered my consciousness, an intangible I was sure I'd one day understand but did not see how or when such an outlandish thing could possibly occur in my own life. This album, aside from being one of the best, most infectiously danceable pop albums I've ever laid ears on, made me feel just a little bit closer to that moment in the timeline of my life. I don't know if it was her deliciously breathy voice or what, but I felt just a little bit bad-ass every time I listened to Fever. Even if I would have been scared to utter the phrase "bad-ass" aloud at the time. It's a bit like the way I felt when I had my fling with Lady Gaga a couple months ago, although things with Kylie seem to have stood the test of time, where as Gaga has yet to prove her longevity to me as of yet. I guess we'll give it another eight years?

My iPod was on shuffle today when I was driving back from buying work clothes for a function tonight, and "In Your Eyes" came blasting through my less than stellar sound system. It took me all the way back to the second story dance studio on Closter Dock, all the while reminding me that I still have a long way to go before I feel as sultry as Kylie sounds on that record. My on-going red lipstick experiment is helping, but Rome was not built in a day. One step, or in this case, one album, at a time.

And we're golden...

Kait and I went outlet shopping this afternoon, and though I acquired several very exciting things for my increasingly more fabulous/refined wardrobe (it is my new goal to only leave the house dressed like I have a very important, very romantic date at all times, even if it is only a date with the world in general), this bugger is by far the biggest deal. Yellow leather seems a little glam, but then I did buy a gold wallet to go with it, so who am I to judge such things? Either way, I am thoroughly in love. A full run down of recent fashion-type purchases in days to come.

Won over by those Coke bottle glasses.

I went to movies for the first time in awhile last night, mostly as an excuse to get out of the house, but partially out of an intense curiosity. I will be completely honest with you - I used to adore the Harry Potter novel series, but by the time the last book was released, I had lost all passion for it and didn't even pick the thing up. When the last film came out however long ago, I didn't even muster the energy to see it. I only ended up watching it because my boyfriend of some months ago had a DVD copy on a day when I was sick in bed and feeling whimsical and nostalgic.

I get intimidated by large crowds freaking out about any pop culture phenomenon. I don't go to very many legitimate concerts, am not a huge fan of midnight openings, would not call myself a 'fangirl' of anything or anyone (except maybe vampires - and not the Twilight kind - and definitely Ryan Adams). So when my entire family went to see the latest Harry installment without me, I wasn't all that upset. Nothing about the previews made me excited for it, and I figured it would only be a matter of time until it was on demand on cable at my apartment, so I'd get to it eventually. But then the boredom struck. I was sitting home alone in the rain, the cats ignoring me and nothing of merit on TV. So I decided now was as good a time as any to give it a shot. I know I don't sound very enthusiastic in this retelling, but that's because I wasn't.

But once actually in the theater, I felt that feeling that I often had while reading the books - that though sometimes predictable or a little corny, the events of the story were somehow very resonant with what I've gone through. The movie took awhile to get going, but since I am now so far removed from being a reader of the books, I was able to appreciate the film separate from its origins; and I was impressed. I expect this series to be a lot of flash and action (maybe because the one that rests most clearly in my mind in the fourth installment with the Triwizard Tournament and all the dragons and daring wand battles that entailed), but the movie was quiet and heartfelt in a way I was caught off-guard by. Harry, Ron, and Hermione (and the actors that play them) have reached a place of subtlety and reality that I never thought could exist within Hogwarts, a place where bombast and leaps of faith abound.

There is a scene in the Great Hall that is very dark, both literally and figuratively, when a gust of wind blows all of the hovering candles out. I literally got chills, and this shot can be symbolic for a lot of the moments that I am really taken with from the movie. There were so many gorgeous shots that allowed themselves to be simple and have that sparse beauty enough. Harry's encounters with the pensieve are probably the best example of this: instead of going an overblown and melodramatic route, when a memory is poured out of a vial, it simply looks like ink expanding in water, and that simplicity is a condition that threads through the film. I found myself crying several times over the course of the few hours I sat there, and though it seems almost laughable in retrospect, that simplicity and the honesty of the emotions expressed so effectively by David Yates and his cast was absolutely arresting.

I haven't written a movie review on here in awhile, and that's probably because I am no longer dating a film student, nor do I have the time to watch four or five movies a week, but I felt I had to talk about this movie. Without the overlay of the wizard world and the menace of the rising powers of evil, the story is only one of the family we acquire and surround ourselves with as we become adults. This has always been beneath the story, but it can be seen most clearly in this film, where moments of love are palpable in a way I expect from some sleeper indie hit and not a blockbuster children's film with one of the biggest opening weekends of all time. Bravo Harry, for surprising me and making me believe all over again.

Right to visitation.

It's next to impossible not to be bored with today after the events of yesterday.



This is how I've taken to entertaining myself instead of orchestrating a much-needed haircut or reading one of the many lonely novels I carted to Providence when I moved in or maybe even working on my novella. No, I would rather menace the cats. Perhaps because I am still recovering from the most full day I've had in awhile, or maybe I'm just losing track of how many spilling-over-the-brim-and-soaking-the-table days I've had in such a short span of time.



Recipe for a perfect Allston afternoon:

lychee juice boxes from the Asian grocery store down the block,
99 cent carton of strawberries, each dipped lovingly in Nutella,
Marty McConnell chapbook, Ramen noodles, lemon water
& warm sun finding its way onto a shady front porch.

This is how I spent my yesterday. It is a saga that started Tuesday afternoon. Cassandra and I were both in crisis and decided I would come to Boston on Wednesday so that we could be escape artists and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist for at least a few hours. The night before I was set to depart, I was at Got Poetry Live on Thayer where I got talking with the featured poet (Write Bloody's own Ryler Dustin - take a look at his amazing book Heavy Lead Birdsong here) and some other news friends and realized they needed a lift to Boston. So we all made a driving date for Wednesday morning and when the time came, we hopped on the highway with some Dylan and some James Tate to keep us company.

After letting off my passengers on a particularly leafy green street and saying all the see-you-laters that entailed (Ryler was featuring that night at the Cantab, where I would be headed at the end of the day), I meandered my way over to Allston and settled in for a wonderfully detoxifying lazy day. Catching up with the bulk of my Slam Collective buddies was very necessary - somehow, even with Boston only an hour away, I managed to put off any kind of visit until this point in the summer, and next week is the NPS send-off for everybody. This summer is flying out of my hands like sand in the wind.



The porch of the Allston poet house glowed brighter than I imagine the pearly gates would, and had I known work was going to be canceled today (rain, again) I would have just stayed for as long as possible. Cass and Sophia kept remarking that it felt so right for me to be there, as if I had been living with them all along. I was overwhelmed with happiness for the day, a condition only intensified by the trip to the Cantab (my first since May) followed by a trip to IHOP followed by more time on that now-beloved porch.

I got to catch up with so many people I've been missing sorely, and I hope not to be so scarce for the rest of the summer. April told me she was planning a book discussion for To The Lighthouse and would love for me to be around for it. Even having not read as much as I planned this summer, my heart literally skipped a beat at the prospect of getting to spend substantial time with Virginia again. If my work schedule allows, I'll be back in Boston again on Tuesday night for a poetry show, and maybe Wednesday again for the Cantab team send-off.

And I leave you with the following image, a completely heinous jumpsuit Cass found when we were browsing around Urban Renewals (where we both ended up finding perfect black cowboy boots).

Soundtrack to Escape.

I ran away to Boston yesterday (and into this morning) and I think the soundtrack warrants documenting:

"Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again" Bob Dylan
"Hurricane Drunk" Florence and the Machine
"New Pony" The Dead Weather
"Rebellious Palpitations" Spinnerette
"Elizabeth Sways" Sean Hayes
"Rainy Day Women #12 and 35" Bob Dyan
"Jolene" Ray LaMontagne
"Run For Your Life" The Beatles
"The Passenger" Iggy Pop

Legitimate update to follow with picture of our porch laziness and discussions of the merits of Asian supermarkets. Also, lots of poet shop talk.

By degrees.

Singing this song with Erick tonight at .B. Very very very excited.

Tallest man on earth - These Days (Nico Cover) - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

Current music obsessions: stripped down acoustics, real-as-raw-vegetables vocals, night drive playlists DJed by near-strangers. I haven't sung in front of people seriously in such a long time. I'm a little nervous? Especially since this is a cover so many times removed - it was originally a Jackson Browne song that Nico covered, and Tallest Man on Earth is covering her version, and then Erick and I are covering his. Is that so far gone that it's a completely new interpretation? I haven't the slightest clue. Alright. Have to go learn the words, and also run poems to read tonight. Rain, rain, go away - they canceled work, now I get to play.

Adventures in red lipstick, among other things.

This is my bathroom, and also my morning face. Thankfully I have not yet left the house. But in all seriousness, I am very excited about wearing bold lipstick. I might make it a regular thing. I have to keep giving myself reasons to be excited about getting out of bed in the morning (I guess that's what the rest of the world calls "being single"), and this is a small one, but a fun one.

Tearing myself out of bed this morning was particularly difficult because of some South County escapades that kept me out much later than I wanted to be out. I didn't get to sleep until almost four in the morning because of them, and I'm only up right now because I was supposed to have work. But because Narragansett loves rain, I am sitting on my couch typing to you all. So here's the skinny: lately I've been designated driving fairly frequently. It's a title I don't mind, nor do I take it lightly. Most of it is as a favor to my sister. She lets me live in this apartment as what we like to refer to as "her ward"- she feeds me, she frequently pays for me to do my laundry, she supports my survival needs without asking for anything in return. So the way I figure it, I can at least drive her home from the bar every once in awhile. Last night, this spirit of reciprocity got me ludicrously lost in Gansett driving around with my friend Brian from the kitchen at work trying to locate George's, which is a bar literally next to the Block Island Ferry. We must've driven around for forty-five minutes because neither of us know the area at all and the only point of reference we could be sure of was the Mobile near the rotary off of Route 4. When we finally stopped to ask for directions and eventually found our way, we came upon my sister - almost an hour after closing time - lying on the sidewalk with one of the cooks. She was not pleased with me. I couldn't help thinking that it was perhaps a good idea to look into buying a GPS of some sort.

When all was said and done, I arrived home completely exhausted after dropping many people off at various locations and took a Benadryl, because (to add to ridiculosity that is my life) I am currently recovering from a case of hives brought on by the lobster roll I had for my shift meal when I worked a double on Sunday. I had never been allergic before, but I guess such afflictions can strike at any time. Maybe it's karma for ordering the most expensive sandwich on the menu and getting to eat for free. In any event, I am still itchy two days later, and it probably wasn't worth all the trouble. The wild goose chase that was my evening has left me feeling like I washed up onto a beach at low tide, but there is now way I'd be able to get back to sleep after showering and getting ready for the day already. Especially when I've already got lipstick on, even if the only beings that will see it for the bulk of the day are my cats. I feel that it's best to keep up appearances in the face of mental cloudiness, and I am sticking to my guns on that one.

Flash flood!

photo from Nat Geo

There are Ganges-sized puddles outside right now - I feel like I just drove home from Gansett through straight water. 95 was like a fish tank, or a faucet turned up as high as it goes. All I want to do is go puddle jumping, but I've decided against it simply because I have no idea what kind of motor oil/city dirt/general grime I'd end up with all over my feet. But God knows, if I was at Hampshire, I'd be doing a rain dance and reveling in the rain about now.

Email GOLD.

I have loved Zappos forever, simply because they have a crazy-big selection of footwear paired with free shipping and a fantastic return policy. But when I got this email this morning, my heart melted for them just a little more.



I had asked for a notification when this particular pair of Docs became available in my size again, and under the button to order, there is a list that says, "Here's the deal: 1. A lot of people get these emails. 2. Maple syrup should be its own food group. 3. If the product sells before you buy it, 4. then you can sign up to be notified again. 5. Music is a nice way to end the day." What a way to start my day, smiling like a fool at somebody's whimsical sense of humor.

Also, I'm listening to Prayers for Atheists, a Providence-based punk/spoken word outfit helmed by a bunch of AS 220 superstars (Jared Paul and Alan Hague among others). They have an album release show next Wednesday that I'm pretty sure is going to be off the hook.

Until then, hopefully the weather will allow me to work my butt off and make some serious paper. I just opened a savings account when I was back in Jersey, so most of the money that had been lying around in a secret box on my bookshelf is now safely tucked away where I won't be tempted to spend it. Which just means I have to make further stacks so the box won't feel so empty. Also, those boots won't wait forever.

New Jersey is excessive.

Besides finding that fabulous cruise portrait of my grandparents while visiting the homestead, I got a lot of important things accomplished while I was in New Jersey. First off, I was able to assess the recent freak tornado damage firsthand.



It doesn't look like much from the street, but most of the gutters are askew and a good deal of shingling has been torn from the roof as the result of a rogue falling tree. The living room ceiling is actually cracked from the force of the falling branches, something that unnerved me quite a bit, and I wasn't even around when it happened. I guess natural disasters and the effect they have on their victims got stuck in my head (along with a lot of chain saw buzzing from around the neighbor), because I ended up writing a poem using them as a motif for the different ways people devastate you without realizing it. Sometimes just one smile could knock a house down, although more often than not, it just sidelines me from intelligent conversation or any kind of coherent attempts at judging a situation for what it is. But I digress.

The main reason I made the trip was not assess damages, but rather to reclaim my beloved Oldsmobile Wendeline from the possession of my little sister. To celebrate the occasion, I resurrected a set of Valentine's Day-themed fuzzy dice I've had lying around probably since middle school (I did not then and do not now have any understanding of why I buy the things that I buy, but sometimes these odd impulse purchases come in handy) and hung them from the rear-view mirror.



The reason I was able to reclaim Wendy was because my little sister just bought herself her first real car. It's a Saturn, but she got it from a GM dealership and while she was signing the papers with my mother, I got to sit and ogle Corvettes.



All the while, I couldn't help thinking that older model Corvettes were much more attractive cars.

Perhaps the most exciting (or useless, depending on your perspective) thing I did while in Jersey was go to a mall I haven't been two in over a year under the pretense of taking my brother sneaker shopping. He only likes slip-ons and my mother invariably buys him weird dorky shoes from L.L. Bean that have bungee cords or look like they were manufactured for the kinds of people who only look like they're having fun in catalog-land. So I bought him a pair of Vans that happened to have skulls on them, which precipitated a ludicrous argument with my mother and grandmother (not the one in the picture previously posted) about how I was encouraging him to don "symbols of the occult". Right. Anyway, while on this mall visit, I finally got myself a new watch to replace the Target watch that broke at the beginning of the summer. In honor of this new watch, I decided to pull out my box of costume jewelry (most of which was purchased at various thrift stores, antique shops, and gem shows throughout my high school career) and color coordinated all of my wristwear.



The pink mother of pearl is one of my daily bracelets, but the rest were stacked on simply for the joy of being heavily accessorized. I used to be one of those hundred rubber bracelet kids (come to think of it, I had a skull cuff I wore all through middle and high school that my mother and Gram frowned upon heavily back in the day), a phase that was analogous to my love of Power Beads and my collection of large plastic bangles, so I guess it makes sense that I feel the need to pile on bracelets again every once in awhile. A watch has been a mainstay in my life, and I guess I just get scared that it will be lonely, or that my wrists are in some way strange if not encumbered by various points of interest. I'm probably just overly-obsessed with jewelry, judging by the cookie tins of necklaces, fingers full of rings, and various extra holes in my head. Everyone from Jersey has their own particular brand of excess - I'm just glad mine does not involve hairspray.

Yes, these are my relatives.

Gem of a portriat found on my family's computer while checking my email and running other internet errands:



A few important questions:

Why do grandparents always have to be so awkward?

What is with their prom pose?

Why is my grandma wearing a tank top with a flamingo embroidered on it?

And why did they have their portrait taken while on a cruise? Did everyone do this?

None of which will ever be answered to my satisfaction. I guess this is what happens when I visit New Jersey - more points of confusion than I can negotiate. I'm going to ignore said confusion and take a nap in preparation for my meet-up later with SLZ and Matty in Hoboken for a slice of actual pizza. New England has brainwashed me into believing that Papa Johns is somehow acceptably termed as a member of the 'za family. Not so my friends, not so.

Ghetto in love.

Jeez...that voice. I want to take up smoking again just to get anywhere close to that rasp.

Photographic time capsule.

I just woke up from the deepest sleep I could have imagined, following a double's worth of work down at the beach. And I have a lot less money to show for it than I should. Kait made more than me on one shift than I did on my two combined, which is unacceptable. But I guess I just have to take things as they happen. Speaking of which, I've been going through old photos and came upon a funny thing. There are pictures of me on the internet from around this time for the past few summers and looking back to the oldest one, I look like I have reverted back to that person. Maybe because the summer before I left for college was the summer I was most myself - no boyfriend, no overpowering friendships, nothing to prove except to myself. It's funny to look back on that time as one when I was most sure of myself, especially because I felt so indisputably unsure of everything else. But anyway, here is the timeline of the past few years.


Sandy Hook, NJ July 06


Emerald Isle, NC July 07


Northampton, MA September 07


Amherst, MA October 07


Amherst, MA April 08


Emerald Isle, NC July 08


Amherst, MA September 08


Amherst, MA December 08


Philadelphia, PA March 09


Providence, RI right now 09

The thing that gets me the most is how much the length of my hair has fluctuated in three years: shaved head twice, too many different kinds of bangs, neon wigs, more bobby pins and texturizer than I care to lay down here. I feel a lot like the girl in the second picture, sitting on the couch waiting for something of great magnitude to happen to me. But unlike that girl, who was very timid and scared, I am much more likely to get up off the couch and grab my important experiences before they pass me by. If that is the only thing that ever changes about me over time, I'll be more than happy living in this skin.

Girl-crush, times two; PVD-area whiskey girls and dancing queens.

Continuing my obsession as of late with lady-rockers, pop divas, and all the wonderful gems in between, today I am spending my time with Brody Dalle and Alison Mosshart, or the respective bad-ass front-ladies ofSpinnerette and The Dead Weather. I figure, if I am going to have dance parties while I do laundry and clean the stove, I might as well make it count.

Speaking of dance parties, as part of a many-faceted night out with Lily yesterday (that included a show in a UU church complete with Gansetts, falafel, seeing a living SHARK in a bar, etc.), we hit up Tazza, got some Maker's on the rocks and proceeded to dance for about three hours straight. I have not had a night of dancing like that...probably ever. Nicky and DC were just sitting in the corner laughing at us because of how much fun we were having. Boys who are too cool to dance make me giggle - Lily and I kept trying to get them to come join us, and DC did for a bit, but he did not seem to have the stamina to take it as seriously as we were taking it. When I got home I felt so good it was a chore to try to get to sleep. People talk about loving the single life, but at this point I'm not even thinking about whether I am single or not. And if I keep having such good times where the silly will-he-or-won't-he-look-my-way-tonight isn't anywhere near a factor, I will continue to be a more than happy camper. I am happily in love with the slow builds in dance songs when they bring the beat back layer by layer until you get almost dizzy with it, and that is enough for me.

Tonight Chris's band Paper Eagles is playing at Tazza (Lily and I were remarking that we feel like we live there lately) and we're going to have the second installment of our dance party + destruction. There have been rumblings about a ladies-only brunch tomorrow morning/afternoon, so clearly things are only going to continue on in this highly enjoyable vein for as long as we will them to do so.

Reading Plath doesn't have to mean you're depressed.

I have woken up twice today. The first time was because the cats were jumping on me and the living room window was letting in way too much cold air for me to keep sleeping with only summer-weight blankets on. I ended up staying awake reading and writing for about three hours, then attempting sleep for a second time. The second time I woke up with a hangover I didn't have upon initial waking. I am not happy about this. The culprit:



My bar tab was $6.50, but this wonderous Rhode Island native is about as cheap as PBR and far better tasting. I ordered four and shared about the equivalent of one full beer with a friend over the course of the night, so I basically drank a 40 at Tazza last night. Forties used to be a cake-walk for me. I feel old.

In spite of the resultant headache etc. it caused, yesterday was probably the best day I've had in recent memory. I woke up around noon, listened to Florence almost a dozen times on repeat while trying to find appropriate going-out clothes that wouldn't make me seem ludicrous during the daytime excursions that were to lead into the nighttime ones. Then I took the bus downtown to White Electric, a spare and clean coffee shop on the West side that is my new love for wasting away afternoons, getting caught in the rain for the second time in so many days. On Tuesday night, I was so drenched that the man who runs the convenience store near my city line bus stop ran out with a plastic bag he had cut a hole in so that I would have some semblance of a raincoat, but I was already past helping. Yesterday I was better off, as the brunt of the flash flood took place while I was safely on the bus and I only had to walk two blocks in a drizzle to get to my caffeine. I camped out with a heavenly soup bowl-sized dark roast and The Bell Jar, reading for an hour and half at least. I haven't had that kind of uninterrupted quiet to myself in too long with all the craziness of running back and forth to South County for work and my sister's turbulent love life.

Afterwards Erick and I met up and went to Coffee Exchange on the East side, which was open much later and is one of his favorite spots. We talked for a solid two hours at least and had a wonderful time doing so. Just when I get concerned that maybe I'm not as well settled here as I want to be, I have a day like yesterday and everything makes me grin uncontrollably again.

The show at Tazza was wonderful, as I knew it would be. The place was more packed than I've seen it on a Wednesday before, which was exciting. It was so satisfying to have all of my friends in one place, doing what they do best and loving every minute of it. I keep saying that I need to get a guitar so that I'm not the only non-musician, and I say that because they all inspire me with how diverse their sounds are and how much joy they seem to get from what they do.

So here I am, many Gansetts later and under the weather but still basking in the afterglow.

Girl-crush.

Ana played a cover of "Kiss With a Fist" last night at .B and I have been obsessed with Florence and the Machine ever since. I think I've listened to Lungs eight or nine times today since waking up and I don't plan on stopping until I meet up with Erick for some adventures before Tazza later on tonight.

Holding my breath for a breather.

Hello again! I keep expecting to have time to write something coherent, but there never seems to be a completely free moment, so here we are. It is raining in Providence after a small stretch of promising sunshine and I am doing too many loads of laundry before going down to work. Waiting tables full time is lucrative at the expense of being exhausting, but I refuse to complain about working five days a week when there are so many people (including many near and dear to me) who don't have the opportunity. My dad still hasn't found a new job. He's been looking since November when he got laid off. Talking to him on the phone this morning about the job search, I could hear how desperate things are getting for him, not even monetarily, but socially. He needs to get out of the house. I have my fingers crossed that something will come through for him very soon.

Meg and I got together for some Indian food the other night and had a much needed rap session about all that's happened since the last time we saw each other, which was maybe three weeks ago. I really wish it wasn't so easy for people to slip through the cracks like that. After dinner we sat in Roger Williams Park for almost two hours just talking. I haven't had the opportunity to do that with anyone recently and it felt good to just let everything that's been trapped in my head out into the open.

After tonight, I am off from work until the dinner shift on Saturday, a much-needed break that will be full to the brim, even if it is supposed to be a break. Wednesday night is the special Sound Session edition of Writers in the Round at Tazza, which I am so psyched about. DC, Ana, Chris, Nicky, Kayla, and company are all wildly talented and having them all share a stage is going be so fantastic. The ladies are a special Sound Session guest appearance addition to what is usually a straight up boys club and it's going to make for a really great show. If you're in the area, come down at 9 PM tomorrow night, have a drink, and fall in love with all of them.

Alright, time to check on that laundry.

Get a grip.

Barely enough time to sleep with how much I've been working lately. Only this is keeping me sane. And this:



I have read and watched so much about vampires over the past few days I feel drained. Sorry. Bad pun. But seriously. Right now it's about small pleasures, at least until I find enough time to post the second installment of my trip to Jersey. Until then, it's waiting tables in questionable weather for me.