| ten words or less |
[07 Jan 2009|02:13pm] |
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so it's true that livejournal might potentially go AWOL? what a shame it would be to lose all of my old entries. it's truly the only archive of the ghost of the person i used to be. but i went AWOL years ago.
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2 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| adverbs. |
[10 Nov 2008|11:44pm] |
i just counted how many books i have, and it seems my library consists of 204.
it's simply not enough!
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4 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| mother and child reunion. |
[01 Sep 2008|01:35am] |
is anyone well adept at creating a webpage? i have been wanting to make one for quite some time, but i'm afraid i haven't the slightest clue as to where to start. i'm really looking to hire someone (for a somewhat modest fee, i'll be frank) for a short-term set-up. if anyone knows anyone looking for some extra work who wouldn't mind helping me, please let me know.
hey, thanks.
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2 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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[20 Aug 2008|03:34pm] |
My mother phoned me while I was at the gym; on my return trip, I called her back. Her voice was echoing and deep. She inquired as to my brother’s whereabouts. Then the words came fumbling out. ”Something horrible has happened.”
There was a fire in my aunt’s house. My aunt and her daughter are in critical condition. My uncle did not make it out alive.
These people are more than family to me; to be honest, we’re not even blood related. My mother has been best friends with Kathy since the first day of high school, and they have subsequently become my godparents, my aunt and uncle, and my friends. Tara is due back to college in two weeks, but she’s in an induced coma and most likely has not yet been informed of her father’s death. Patrick was staying at his uncles, and for the next week, he has no family. They have no father. I don’t know what to do.
http://www.dailyrecord.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080820/UPDATES01/80820007
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COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| what is happening? |
[03 Aug 2008|12:52am] |
i just bought this for my high school friend:
and attended the wedding of my other high school friend last weekend. that is two babies and two weddings in one year, and the mothers and wives are all my age. lordy.
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COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| alligator skin. |
[08 Jul 2008|01:07am] |
moving into an already-furnished-brimming-with-my-old-knick-knacks room that once belonged to the ghost i was in high school seemed daunting when attempting to procure space for an entire house's worth of unrelated things. and thus, after the initial shove the first valiant week of moving back home, i quickly lost steam and left the back seat of my car piled high with ridiculous belongings. in today's wet heat, as my little brother scraped the rust off of his new 1978 motorcycle, i found a temporary home for my worldly things. in the rubbish:
two typewriters
three silkscreen posters
1/3 of a medicine cabinet door
a large handmade quilt
a complete art set
a rotary telephone
a miniature keyboard
an omnichord
three guitar cords
a children's book
a wide-brimmed straw hat
an orange vase
two picture frames
a pair of boots
a vintage suitcase
a miniature dress form
a charles bukowski book
as i pulled everything from my car and laid it on the hot pavement, my brother assessed the mess and shook his head. "seriously. you have the weirdest crap."
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COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| found essays. |
[04 Jul 2008|02:06am] |
i recently stumbled upon this old essay i wrote for a class; the assignment was to describe what thanksgiving meant to us. i forgot how cynical i was. i miss that.
Thanksgiving has become less of a holiday to me than Black Friday, the day when doomed commercialistic consumers awake at dismally wee hours to save an extra ten dollars on an Ipod or fetch a mail-in rebate on some other unnecessary new gadget. I have recently joined the ranks of the early-caffeinated, bringing home droves of goods a good month before the “real” holiday hits. But Thanksgiving is merely the day to rest up for the big event, the day to let the triptophan and beer sink in and create a sleepy haze, the day for being lazy.
My brothers and I switch off every year as to which parent we spend the holiday with. It has become tradition to traverse to my stepmother’s sister’s house for the day, where my brothers and I proceed to blend into the walls and couches and secretly eat all of the shrimp cocktail. The first year we went, we simply had no idea what we were in for. We were “the new kids,” the illegitimate additions to the already large family, the gum on their shoe, the fly in their wine. We were Gregorys.
I spent the first hour politely explaining eight times to the near-deaf unwed spinster of a great aunt that I was in high school, not sixth grade, and that my name was Kaitlin, not Krystal or Kristie or Kelly. My brothers and I heard through the grapevine that the twenty-somethings were in the “basement,” so we opened every door in the house until we found one with stairs attached, and we sank into the finished game room smattered with other bored victims.
After what seemed like only moments in solitude, romancing the extensive cable box and big screen, the step-family emerged, flooding the room with chatter and how’s school’s and hey Krystal’s. Through stiff jaws, they pretended to care, through blank expressions, they pretended to listen. All the while, I just wondered how many times I could legitimately excuse myself to the ladies’ room without becoming noticeable, how many times I could avoid answering some dumb question by stuffing another shrimp in my mouth.
Dinner was had in the garage; a few white-cloth-covered tables lined the walls and boasted seating and settings for thirty-five, and portable heaters were placed strategically around the space. The buzzing fluorescent lights flickered and cast a ghastly light on the immense amount of food, the people chirred and chatted while digging in. We sat at the kids’ table with gum on our shoes and flies in our wine, with chatter in our ear and emptiness in our stomachs. When I returned home, I crossed the day off on my calendar, went to bed early, and dreamt soundly of mail-in rebates.
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1 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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[14 May 2008|01:36am] |
so much is ending
yesterday the street and the river shook hands and no one could go anywhere
i don't want to go anywhere
i don't want this to end
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1 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. |
[28 Apr 2008|06:08pm] |
the weekend was flanked by harrowing work shifts; regardless, i had an eventful and euphoric weekend. friday hailed a late night stop at carrie's 25th birthday party, where thriller dancing and decemberist sing-a-longs were in abundance; next to harrison's dance party with andrea & lacey to talk vonnegut and patriotism between bouts of lager, strobe lights and sunglasses in darkened rooms. a few hours of sleep before the neighborhood beach clean-up; don your oversized gardening gloves and grab some strong elixer/coffee. after a few larabars, a relic of a record player (stand-up, swell, and overflowing with potential) from 1917 was acquired at a yard sale for twenty shillings an a toothy smile. an antique frame for three for me; andrea was lucky enough to snatch a large box wielding the makes of hundreds of multi-colored elephant brooches for a buck. amy's omlete house was next, where danny met us for small fries and small talk before joining the yard sale hunting committee. goodbye, lacey, hello good buys ! acquired: four plant stands, an oven mitt, and for me, a schwinn. the best fifteen dollars spent.
goodbye, danny; thank you for the cargo space and brute strength ! welcome back, becky. get ready get pretty get okay looking a little bit. more elixer/chai tea before rescuing lacey and drinks all around. down to seaside to meet rhyan and witness a slew of true jersey girls donning booty shorts and bad dispositions. hey rhyan, nice guy. music, lager, lager, music. "hi, i love you, it's cold out here." falling asleep on the way home; the parkway has never felt this long. get up now, it's back to the salt mines.
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4 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| films lately: |
[28 Apr 2008|03:09am] |
roman holiday.
before the devil knows you're dead.
the savages.
bonnie & clyde.
taxi driver.
ratatouille.
harold & maude.
forgetting sarah marshall.
the ladykillers.
lars and the real girl.
2 days in paris.
memento.
alice doesn't live here anymore.
buffalo '66.
kicking and screaming.
the hudsucker proxy.
blood simple.
barton fink.
fur.
gone baby gone.
a clockwork orange.
oh, jeez.
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4 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| the life of the twenty somethings |
[22 Apr 2008|11:31pm] |
the doorknob of my bedroom door came tumbling with me to the floor when i attempted to exit my room. half of the toilet seat in my bathroom literally fell off, unprovoked, in front of my very eyes. my cat is somehow able to unearth the floor tiles in the bathroom. a bevy of house centipedes, ranging between 3 and 5 inches in length, have made their homes in our laundry piles, desk drawers, and ceiling crevasses. we have replaced over thirty light bulbs and have many still left to go. i fall asleep each night to the cacophony of the hot water heater perched safely behind my head, and the dryer, a mere five feet from my bed. we lived for a month with no electricity in one bathroom, which overlapped the three months in which our other bathroom was "out of order" (did i mention the functioning bathroom is in my bedroom?). our kitchen drawer fell into the cabinet below. the bricks on our outside step are currently crumbling. our gas bill is routinely $700. oh, and our crackhead neighbors ask us at midnight to "borrow" the cell phone we are currently using, only to make us stand outside in the cold for twenty minutes, simply waiting for the phone to find its way back. and then one crackhead, who has now acquired our number, proceeds to call us at 4am in order to ask "a few questions, you know, woman stuff." oh, and then there's the neighbor with the penchant for banging on our door at midnight wielding a meat cleaver and a michael jackson mask before stampeding into the house uninvited.
and our landlady is asking $958,000 for the joint. at least it has a beautiful view.
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COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| not enough. |
[18 Apr 2008|01:10am] |
next week: philly.
may 1-3 : boston.
may 23-26: atlanta.
june 11-17: orlando.
also in the works this summer: bahamas, costa rica, ireland, midwest roadtrip.
...and i am broke !
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3 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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| i almost forgot |
[31 Mar 2008|03:04am] |
this was created as my thank you gift to my mother.
the uploaded quality is tragically much worse than the original.
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1 COMMENT///CRITIQUE.
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dawn_weiner's journal
