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Jan. 31st, 2010 | 12:40 am

I still love broccoli, but I'm moving. My new blog is going to be way sweeter! I just posted my first entry on Elladelphia, it's about Guns N Roses and Polish. I'd love if you read it.


Later livejournal.

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Update number 1 zillion / ELLADELPHIA

Jan. 27th, 2010 | 02:00 am

It's been an interesting few weeks.

I've had two people in two days offer me jobs with their companies while I'm at work, both of them adding that they'll hire Dave too if he's anything like me.

I've started learning Polish and gotten to the point where I'm dreaming Polish phrases like, "the woman is driving a car" and "the cat is black." It's driving me crazy. And no, I do not have any real reason to learn Polish (other than Poland being one of my favorite European countries and Rosetta Stone not offering Hungarian), but it does fit into the master plan of Dave and I learning as many European languages as possible so next time we're out there we have our asses covered almost everywhere. He's learning Russian and German, in another couple weeks (once I get to a certain point with Polish) I'm going to start Spanish (which Dave is already fluent in.)

My new band (yes, Kingdom is still together, it just doesn't take up every single second of my time) is SO AWESOME. Did I tell you about it? It's country/folk/OI/sabbath influenced fast pysch-punk with super melodic vocals (think Warzone meets Strike Anywhere meets the 4 skins), and all (or most?) of the lyrics are based on American history. Writing lyrics is taking forever, I've been studying folk song structure, taking really complex parts of America's past and boiling them down into fast, catchy little songs... it's so fun. The first is a love song FROM a sailor/conquistador with Ponce De Leon sung TO America (the land, not the people living on it), expressing his love as he's maurading around Florida, killing natives, etc etc. It's historically accurate and it rhymes!

I also made a new blog. This may well be my last entry here, other than the entry I'll post telling you that this blog is done with, officially. I'm done dragging all these entries behind me. I'm at a new point in my life. I feel like I'm starting again in a lot of ways. New bands, new languages, new job, new house, new boyfriend, new desire to spell correctly. Of course a lot of things never change (ie: Ella is still fat, Pippi is still on the verge of asking a very important question, I'm still riding the same old red bike down the same old streets and yelling at the same old idiotic New Jersey drivers.)

Anyway, I'm like an internet moron so add this however it is that you add a blogspot blog. Subscribe? Add it to your favorites? Or your blogroll? I don't know. Damnfangled new typing boxes confuse the shit out of me.


I haven't posted on it yet, but I will start soon!

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Jan. 10th, 2010 | 10:14 pm

i'm sick. i've been telling dave that i feel like a fragile little egg with a broken yolk, and he's taken to calling me "little egg" in russian. (he's learning russian, i'm learning spanish. hurray for jobs that provide free language learning!)

my jacuzzi tub is fixed and i've been living in it, which is amazing. i finished roald dahl's boyhood memoir today ("boy") during a 2 hour soak today. i would love to have lived a day in his mind. you know he didn't start writing until he was 26, and didn't start writing children's book until he was in his 40's or so? makes me feel better about procratinating.

i've had 7 pieces of toast and a bowl of miso soup today. i'm miserable, and off to crawl into bed and watch "coco before chanel". achuu. sniff. cough. wahhhh

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Dec. 31st, 2009 | 02:35 am

Last year today I had a dude from half-way across the country that I met on the internet (real life friend of real life friends, so it wasn't THAT sketchy) visiting me in my roach infested house. We sat in his car drinking Dr. Pepper into the New Year. A few days later we decided that despite him living 10 hours away, and despite that I'm on the road at least half the year, we would be in a committed, monogamous relationship. It was very romantic.

A few day later he went back to his far away home as my boyfriend (despite that we'd known each other for only a couple weeks and only met a few days prior), and I went to Europe for 3 1/2 weeks on tour.

Tour was great right up until the second day when I fractured my ankle (which, btw, is STILL healing.) I spent the rest of my time on the cobblestoned continent with my crutches stuck in every crack, and tripped my way through France, Poland, Sweden, Germany, and lot of other unevenly paved countries. I was forced to wear work boots all the time (the only kicks my cast would fit into), my hair was overgrown (band= poverty= no trips to the salon), and due to not being able to move and being overfed, I packed on weight. Basically, I looked AWESOME.

Dave and I became super close on that tour. I found myself telling him things I'd never told anyone completely unselfconsciously, staying up late every night joking and giggling with him. He reminded me of the kind of friends I had in elementary school and hadn't had since. The whole tour felt like a traveling summer camp... but in the freezing cold, and with Bulldoze covers.

I got really sick one of the last nights of tour, pissed myself while we played, and fell asleep while every one else partied. Dave woke me up so I could drink some tea. We stayed up all night talking, per use, and with no warning whatsoever during a break in the conversation, I realized I was in love with him.

I wrote it off instantly as an infatuation caused by being really close to someone that I was with 24/7, and figured I'd be embarrassed by the thought the next day.

I barely made it through our last show, I was so sick. I don't remember the trip to the airport. We slept on the airport floor for 12 hours, then got on a 9 hour flight home. From there Pierce, Dave, and I stopped at my house where I took a quick shower, dumped the clothes in my luggage out onto my bed, threw some different clothes back in, and got in the car for an overnight drive to Toledo, Ohio with the guys.

Pierce was going home, and Dave and I were getting picked up by my boyfriend (my boyfriend, who was Dave's friend- which is why he was ALSO coming to visit.) I'm like zero-drama when it comes to romance. While my sex-life may be worth gossiping about, my relationships are like disney romances, only they're real life so they end in breakups (but we usually live happily ever after, as friends.) So imagine my surprise as the drive to Toledo brought us closer to my boyfriend and all I could think about was my love for my best friend/roomate/bandmate, Dave. I felt like I had lost my mind. I was still under the impression that my crush was circumstantial and would leave as suddenly as it had come. Because I totally couldn't be in love with Dave. He was... DAVE.

When we finally met up with my boyfriend, I felt... off. I figured it was just because I'd been gone for so long, was still just hours off tour, jetlagged, sick, and kicking myself with my one good leg for tossing my crutches because I could still hardly walk. But as Dave, the boyfriend, and I all hung out and I started to realize that I really had next to nothing in common with my "boyfriend", and within a couple days I was regretting my visit.

My regret doubled when Dave left us to hang with friends in another town. I stayed with my guy- watching TV in the burbs, all day, every day. That's all we did. During the endless Law And Order marathon, I got sicker, and sicker, and sicker. My hair was falling out in clumps, the top of head was balding so badly that in desperation to hide it I considered combing my hair over. I had no idea what was wrong. The boyfriend didn't seem very concerned.

Dave and I talked every day- mostly about our next tour (which was just a few weeks away,) and our dire need for a van. Our online van hunt turned up nothing, a worrysome problem since it was becoming very, very apparent to me that I needed to leave the guy (and his house!), and that van was my way out (otherwise I'd be there for another MONTH!) I had NO money to get out any other way. My parents didn't have money to give me (I was so desperate I asked them, if that gives you any idea how unhappy I was...) All I had was band money. Band money could only be used for band related things, so I was screwed.

I ached for Dave. I missed him as if he had died. It was maddness. My hair continued to fall out, the flu I got in Germany continued to make me feel miserable. Dave and I were both afraid that there was something really wrong with me. More than anything I wanted to go to my Dad's house in Maine, go to a doctor, then, if I found out whatever I had was as serious as it seemed, I could cry in my Dad's arms and stay with him until I got better.

I had been trying to get the boyfriend to break up with me. I wanted him to be the one to do it so there were no hard feelings. But he wasn't having it. There was no arguement he couldn't counter. I tried being mean. I tried avoiding sex. I tried avoiding him. Nothing worked. Drama seemed unavoidable. Oy...

My feelings for Dave had increased every day. I had held back telling him in case rather than inspiring him to confess his undying love for me, they inspired him to quit our friendship, the band, and our house. But they had become so all-consuming that I realized no matter whether I told him or not, our relationship was going to change dramatically. So I told him, via text. How 2009. He, much to my exploding heart's joy, texted back that felt the same way. I told him about my failed attempts to get broken up with, that I wanted to go to Maine, that I was terrified of whatever was wrong with me and needed to the hospital. He agreed.

So a day and half later Dave took his last $120 dollars, rented a car, and picked me up from the dude's house and drove me to Maine- 17 straight hours, through 2 snowstorms.

I tried to break up with my boyfriend twice the night before I left, but he said no. He said no! The first time I did it subtley, the second time I did it definitively ("this isn't going to work."), but somehow, he just didn't believe me, or didn't agree, or...??!

I left with Dave while the dude slept. Dave and I been together more or less every day since we left that guy's house (who I had to break up with AGAIN a week later on the phone, who then 3 days later sent me a myspace message about how we "weren't working out", which let me know that, despite that he may be fuzzy on how our breakup had happened, he knew it had.)

In Maine, I was diagnosed with Polysystic Ovarian Syndrome, and given a birth control that helped me grow all my hair back. I splurged on a haircut. We rented a van and went on a 6 week US tour, then came back to our cockroach infested house for a few weeks and worked like crazy. I lost most of my busted-leg weight. We left for a 9 week european tour. It was absurd. I saw Russia, I met some cool people, I met some uncool people. Played cool shows, and uncool shows. The highlight was Russia, where I finally realized why Eastern Europeans approach me on the street and ask me where I'm from. I look really, really Russian. They are some goooood lookin' people. ;)

Post epic-tour, Dave and I went to Barcelona for 10 days. We ate, and ate, and ate. Then we came back to the states, which after being gone for so long felt like a foreign country. ("Dude they call the the WC a 'bathroom'!") We crashed at a friend's for a few weeks, spent some time in New England, then, finally, got a new (cockroach-less!) house in Philly in October, which was a full-time nightmare (as you may have read about.) I gained some happy weight.

So. A year has passed. I can't afford a haircut, as usual. I'll be spending this new years eve with the love of my life, my best friend/roomate/bandmate Dave. Who is waiting behind me, patiently, to get into bed.

Happy New Year

BEST OF 2009:

strike anywhere: iron front
cro mags/wisdom in chains show in philly
chuck ragan/reagan youth show in belgium
trial show in the czech republic
kingdom's US tour
touring with Bishop
the show TRUE BLOOD
the show TOP CHEF
the book A VOYAGE LONG AND STRANGE by Tony Horwitz

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"the bigger the hair...

Dec. 8th, 2009 | 02:50 pm

...the closer to god." While i don't believe in god, per say, I do believe that these curlers are bringing me closer to something pure, and good, and holy. I love curly hair!
This is day 2 with my molecular steam curlers:
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A twist in the right direction...

Dec. 6th, 2009 | 03:48 am

It's begun. My entertaining empire is taking (occasionally popping, ill-porportioned) shape.

A poodle-lined shelf:

Today's first project, a bear!


This one may be hard to see, but it's a little mouse.


Then my masterpiece of the night- a slightly crooked tiger!!


This is my desk after an evening of exhausting study:


And this is the pile of half-animals, misshapen swords, and discarded creatures of various kinds heaped by my bed:


At one point tonight I was like, "Seriously? It's 2 am on a Saturday night and I'm in my pajamas, alone, slouched over in a chair, drawing eyes on a balloon tiger. Shouldn't I be attending a social engagement or getting laid?" But, strangely- and maybe pathetically- none of those things could have made me happier than doing a pinch twist... or a sausage twist... or any other of the rudimentary techniques that I am now completely not a master of.

Invigorated from my sexy night of balloon sculpting, I decided to research making my own skincare products because I like making things... and I'm shit broke. After reading a lot of recipes and a lot about the properties of various ingredients, I made my own exfoliating facial scrub. I mixed it up in under 3 minutes. The only reason I'm even telling you is that IT WAS AWESOME!!! My skin is positively GLOWING, my pores shrank, I'm not greasy (I have wicked oily skin), and I feel super clean. Here's what I did:

I juiced the half a lime I had sitting in my fridge (lemon would also work though), then mixed enough brown sugar into it to make it a paste. Then, because I thought it would be extra-nice, I threw some rolled oats (not instant- I make oatmeal every morning for breakfast so I have loads of it around) in the food processor and chopped it up, then dumped enough in so that it was still pasty.

I have in a little tub in my ice-cold bathroom, so I think it'll keep at least a week, maybe 2. TRY THIS! And tell me how much you love it!

Also, I'm way late on this but I just started using Pandora and it rules. I made a Pelican station, an all-banjo station, and a Tom Waits/Man Man station. The internet is neeeeeeat.

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a grown-ass year

Dec. 3rd, 2009 | 02:45 am

I've been telling people that "I'm a grown-ass woman" since I was about 19 years old. This phrase was directed at anyone who seemed to operate under the assumption that because I was female, or small, or young, I was not a full-functioning adult. This, of course, was always offensive to me. So, with one eyebrow raised, I would clearly over-pronounce each syllable- I am a GROWN-ass WO-man") as if I was delivering a clever retort to a rude bus boy at afternoon tea with the ladies. All lipgloss and attitude, I looked down on those who looked down on me.

And I'll admit that not a helluva lot has changed- still wearing the same gloss, still got the shitty attitude- but for one thing: I AM actually a grown-ass woman now. There's no debating it, I'm 27 years old. Unfucking real.

Aging, thus far, has bothered me in only the most superficial ways. My ass, as mentioned in the last entry, the little smile crinkles around my eyes, etc. Whatever. But something started this summer, a shift in consciousness, that I can only describe as growing up.

It terrified me.

It happened on tour, we were somewhere in Europe and all of a sudden I felt... disillusioned. With hardcore. ME disillusioned with HARDCORE!

But there it was, my life that I believed in more than anything- riding the van (my second home), setting up the shirts I helped design, setting out the records I helped write, playing the songs that I loved, the inspiration and amazement I felt as people sang those songs with me, meeting kids I hoped would become my dear friends- and it was a joke. It was empty. The shirts were just "merch", the lyrics learned online by those kids the night before- we could have been any band, our show was the same show that happened last week and would happen again next week. It was rehersed. It was the same conversations, the same mosh, the same pot of stew in the back room. I wasn't making any friends. I wasn't doing anything.

Thinking like this made me feel like I was living in someone else's mind. I heard conversations that I always shut out. I felt bitterness that didn't belong to me.


When I was 16, I used to carry my favorite records in my backpack when I left home- vinyl, even though I couldn't listen to it- just because they were so dear to me. They were my religion. I liked to look at them, read the liner notes, hanging on every lyric, every image. What did they mean? Why were they chosen?

I read zines that said things like, "be a part of this scene- book shows, play music, do SOMETHING that contributes- don't just buy records" and I did. I saw hardcore as a culture that gave so much to me, because I gave so much to it, because we all did. That was its definitive quality. That's what hardcore was. Participation, appreciation.

This ideal of mine, I realized one day in Europe, was as antiquated as a pager. It's 2009, the age of I-Phone. Don't get me wrong. I love the convenience of downloading. I like being able to find new bands. I was always too poor to buy many records. But we are already disconnected- from the production of our food, the production of our clothes, the jobs we work that do not show us the results of our labor (example: working a cash register all day), and hardcore was a refuge. It was tangible. It was heavy vinyl, photocopies of words written by kids like you or I- one hardcore kid to another- passing along a tidbit of something real, and now that's as abstract and lost as everything else.

Kingdom had been off tour for 2 months and already people were asking if we broke up. Our myspace was a ghost town. It was as if we no longer existed, just because we were taking a little breather after 6 months of solid touring. Do you know that I never even got to see most of my favorite bands, and to this day I still listen to them all the time?

Even worse than the kids are the bands. I've met bands who write songs to "sell" rather than songs they like, design shirts they hate but will make them money, I even heard one of the all around most important dudes in 80's hardcore ask his band members after a show "how many units" they "moved". I wasn't becoming disillusioned, I had just been delusional.


I came home thinking that I'd just been on tour too long and the feeling would go away. But it didn't. So, for the first time in my life- I cut hardcore out. I only listened to old folk and country. I didn't go to any shows- I couldn't bear to watch the parody. I started wondering if that's what people meant when they said they'd "grown out of hardcore". It was only because they saw more clearly than I had been.

I moved into my new place, spend absurd amounts of time with my boyfriend, picked back up with my job as a face painter, and started to feel really, really good. Work was making me happy- I mean, I DO actually see the results of my labor, and they're little, sparkling, giggling faces. Any minute with Dave is generally one of the greatest minutes ever spent breathing, and since we live together, and hang out all the time, that led to a lot of lovely minutes. I didn't miss hardcore. At all.

I had pretty much decided that I was done with Kingdom. I had nothing left to give, and no one to give it to anyway. I wasn't going to waste my time. But then. Something happened, something that shifted my consciousness yet again.

I got a message on myspace from a kid who was at the last show we played this summer. It was a huge fest- we played the first day, hung out in Belgium the second day, then watched bands (and I did spoken word!) the third day. Reagan Youth played, and, despite their original singer being dead, I still about lost my mind during their set. I threw my arms around the kids next to me. I danced. I sang along.

Then when I "realized" that hardcore was now a farse, I forgot about the whole experience. When I got back to the States, my Reagan Youth records sat untouched by the player.

Then, I got this message. He said that he liked my band, and liked hardcore, but that he never really got what it was about... until he stood next to me during Reagan Youth. You're in a band, you watch a band, you buy a record, you make a record, you write a zine, you read a zine, I give, I take, he gives, he takes, and that's what it's about.

I wasn't as antiquated as I thought.

I responded to his message, and threw Reagan Youth's "Volume 2" on the turn table.

My mind melted pleasantly to the song "Heavy Metal Shuffle" and I wondered how on earth I had gone so long without it. I reflected on Reagan Youth's set in Belgium, how in watching them I had felt connected to the past of hardcore, how I had marveled at they way those songs had shaped the sound and attitude of a culture, which had in turn helped shaped me. There they were, in the 40's or maybe even 50's, without pomp, without misplaced pride, without "buy our merch!", without slick new designs, without anything more than what they truly were.

I was changed again. The future, the profiteers, the hype, and itunes be damned, hardcore lives. In memory, in reality- however rare it may be, in that kid on myspace, in me.

I realized that THIS is what it is to be a grown-ass woman. It's not (just) defying the world around you. It's not turning your back on your past and calling that 180 "adulthood". It's not growing out of something, it's about growing into something- into someone: yourself. And it's about defying yourself- when you feel jaded, when you feel hopeless, when you feel apathetic. You gotta raise that eyebrow inward, and be a grown up.

After coming full circle through my Disillusioned Summer, I realized I also had other grown-ass concerns that had gone unaddressed. See, I've grown up idolizing unemployed squatters. I take one shit job after another so that I can live the punk rock life I like to live. Having a job you like isn't punk. It's just not. But the fact is, that not only do I love and believe in hardcore, but I love and believe in my work. So I'm embracing the fact that I am a professional face painter. This is not just my job, but a "career" I'm choosing, however much I agree that "wage slavery is still slavery". Now I'm wise enough to know that, if you're going to be a slave in some form (doing sleep studies, working at health food stores, or painting faces), you should choose the opressive work you at least kind of like (or maybe love.) So in the interest of my career and my future, I ordered a balloon pump. I'm about to study both the art of balloon twisting and miming.

Growning up is about admitting truths to yourself that you may not be comfortable with, such as: Hardcore, for the most part, is a joke. Or: I, for one, do not want another shit cafe job. I will continue to write songs I love, and I will continue to entertain at children's events. In fact, my new goal (outside of Kingdom's new 7" and side project Reagan Youth-esque punk band) is to to be the queen of the balloon, with an all-balloon fruit-hat on my head. This is who I am. I will no longer deny it. Meet my new idol:

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Today I inflated my first balloon. I was ecstatic. The reason I even wrote this is to tell you about that one balloon. I don't know how to twist yet, but I ran around the house with the 2 foot long blue ballon on my nose like a giant elephant trunk, yelling "I AM GOING TO BE THE BEST BALLOON TWISTER EVERRRRRR!"

So this is growing up. Hardcore shows and balloon animals. I'm a grown-ass woman, for real. And I have a random European hardcore kid and Reagan Youth to thank.

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Nov. 29th, 2009 | 12:43 am
location: candyland
mood: hungryhungry
music: neanderthal

My choice to become vegan had nothing to do with my physical wellbeing. I do not give two shits if what I'm eating will have a negative effect on me- my waistline, my skin, my whatever. For years, I have eaten fried food twice a day and at least one package and/or box of candy (usually one box of Runts.) As long as no one is needlessly suffering when I stuff my mouth, the only limits I have are my palete and unfortunately NOT bottomless stomach.

(To be fair and accurate- I was raised by a VERY health-conscious Dad. The idea of a "balance meal" is so ingrained in me that I couldn't leave a dark, leafy green off my plate if I tried. And yes Dad, I'm drinking 8 glasses of water a day! I also love vegetables. Again, not health related, I just think they're fantastic.)

I've always thought of my self as a Super Vegan. (BTW- have you all seen that blog by the same name? It rules! I love it! SUPER VEGAN!) I've always thought that because I am vegan, and because I am active (again- not because I necessarily cared to be, I just don't like cars so I've always biked for transportation) that I while I would, inevitably, age, I would do so only in mind, and be preserved physically at age 21.

Dudes. I was wrong.

Oooooh this body is achin'. I'm soooo stiff. My insides feel like they were greased with old lard. I'm tired all the time. And my ass is significantly less perky than it was 5 years ago. I'm realizing, like we all do, that I just a person- a person with above-average health, but still, shit takes its toll, and I don't wanna see what happens in 5 more years.

So. I'm putting down the fries. I'm over 7 cups of coffee a day. Next week I start (gasp!) YOGA. And next week I'm doing the Master Cleanse, with Dave as my fasting partner.

I guess it's a bonus that it's really, really easy to be vegan and in great health. This will, however, be the first time that being vegan has involved any self control whatsoever. I don't WANT to eat animals. It's not hard for me not to. But I do want candy. I want cheesesteaks, and an entire box of cookies in one sitting, and wafflewiches, and 3 am dinners in bed. And not doing that, being cruelty-free toward my intestines and immune system and resting heart rate, THAT'S going to take real fucking discipline.

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paranoia and pms

Nov. 15th, 2009 | 01:25 am

Ok. So I posted a bit about my house problems before. Well, it reached a boiling point a few days ago. Here's what happened:

As you know, our heat wasn't working. We told the rental agency, who told the landlord, who said he was coming to our house between 2-4 pm with a contractor a couple days later. When 4 passed by with no sign of them, we gave the rental office a call. They told us that the landlord was there chatting with them, he was running late, and he'd be over by 5. Oh, ok... that was annoying, but we'd waited all day, what was another 40 minutes, right?

20 minutes later I got a call from the rental office. "Uh yes, the landlord is not coming over. He just told us that he won't fix anything in the house and if you don't like you can just move out." I said, "What?! I can't live without heat!" She said, "I know." I continued, "The landlord is crazy!" She agreed. I said, "We have to get this fixed!" And she said, and I quote,

"Don't complain to me. Just think about what you want to do."

Oh, ok. I'll just go ahead and NOT complain to the single person on this earth that I am SUPPOSED to "complain" to about how my house should be in liveable condition. And because my landlord has decided that being a landlord is hard and he doesn't like doing it (despite our legally binding contract called a LEASE that he signed, thus obligating him to fix things and us to live in this house for 12 months), I'll just move out. You can just keep the security. Money's nothing to me. In fact, since the heat's been broken I've been burning 100 dollar bills to keep warm.

Anyway. I get a call 2 days later saying, with no further explanation, that the landlord and a contractor will be coming over the next day to fix our heat. And, remarkably, they do. The landlord however, probably afraid (with good reason) that he will get ripped a new asshole by one of the furious tenants, meets the contractor outside, gives him the key, and leaves.

Now everything this fixed. No word on the foreclosure, but I'm attending a Tenant Action meeting on Monday to see what I can do about finding out.

This situation is completely insane of course, but more than just pissing me off and taking up my time with trips to realty office (where they know me by name and dislike me immensely), more than making me unsure if I should unpack in case I have to move out (making this house more like a hotel than my own space... I don't have a single thing on the wall yet), it's shook me. Because my landlord, I now realize, is not sane. And he's not insane in the way that he's an insane asshole with no regard for other people, but like, he's bipolar, or schizophrenic, and unpredictable, and maybe dangerous, and he hates me. And this is terrifying, because he has keys to my house.

I didn't realize I was thinking about this at all. But I started getting jumpy when I heard loud noises outside. I'd run to the window to check if it was the landlord breaking in. Before I knew it, all noises became unnerving. Car doors. People talking. Leaves rustling. I was asking Dave to get up to check noises in the night, waking up at least twice before morning. I started to convince myself during that just-woke-up-but-falling-back-asleep stage that the landlord was in the basement, or climbing on the roof.

It's bad. And in the last couple of days since the heat got fixed it gotten a little better, but I'm still nervous.

I'm also PMSing, so despite my new amazing knee-high boots that I got tonight, I'm furious with everything. How the bathroom floor is always dusty, even if I sweep it. How the day passed too fast. How Dave took a long shower when I had wanted to take one first, since I worked all day and had to wake up early to work again. How I hate that god damn pine cat litter. How I hate that the crystal litter is so fucking expensive. I have cramps, and assholes are partying outside my house. And on that note, I'm going to bed.

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oh... hello there.

Oct. 30th, 2009 | 08:45 pm
location: home
music: government warning

so, it's been awhile. probably months. sorry for that.

i had an exhausting and bizarre spring/summer (a lot of which can be read about on this tour blog), then after all that touring was over, dave and i went to barcelona to visit my friend julio for a week. i ate many avocados and saw naked men at a beach in the middle of the city. tried not to stare and failed.

we came back to the states sept 10 for the first time in nearly 3 months. cultural diversity! salsa that isn't actually just sugared ketchup! people harassing me on the street! nutritional yeast! AMERICA! SHIT YEAH!

since the lease at my last house ended the day we flew to europe, all of our things were in storage. from the airport we had no place to go, so we crashed with out friend christmas out in the suburbs while we house hunted.

an italian airline lost my luggage and i was forced to wear the same black shirt and acid wash jeans, reek of b.o., and brush my teeth with a tiny toothbrush given to me by a german hotel for an entire week. every time i brushed my teeth bristles would fall out in my mouth, and every time i lifted my arm i would notice that my personal smell had evolved, and at one point almost smelled like a delicious sandwich.

after a week in the burbs, we found a super sick house in south philly, signed a lease, and had until october 1st to kill before we could move in. we went up to new england to see our respective parents.

upon moving in to this "huge 3 bdrm house with jacuzzi tub!" which originally we had thought was WAY too nice for people like us to live in, quickly realized it was not. in fact, it wasn't even in living condition. but dave and i had no where else to go. so we lived here, while...

-the landlord left his things in almost every room, leaving us with just enough room to leave our boxes in the kitchen/living room, and lay my bed (sans frame) down on the floor. our roommate's room was completely taken up by a giant pool table, and he had to stay with a friend. these things stayed in our house for 8 days. when he finally got movers to come, they broke his pool table- but only after they smashed it into our ceiling (leaving a huge hole), which he told me was not "his problem".

-the advertised jacuzzi tub was missing a part, rendering it unusable

-the gas company came to turn on our gas, and left a few minutes later, telling us that when we didn't have a gas leak, grounded the line, and unclogged the chimney... THEN we could have gas. we lived without heat, a stove, and hot water for a week. i took 1 shower, where i washed each body part separately with a cup of cold water. i am such a wuss that dave had to take over rinsing me, because i couldn't bring myself to dump the ice water down my soapy back. we went broke eating out.

-there's a knock on the door. it's the water company, coming to turn off our water. "but i've only lived here a week, i haven't even got a water bill!" i yelled as i stood on my stoop in my pajamas. "says here you owe $424.95... and if you don't pay me half right now i'm cutting your water." i cry right there in front of the water guy and my neighbors because i'm broke and need to be able to shower and cook and drink, and have to call my dad to pay my landlord's old unpaid water bill.

after the landlord procrastinated on MAJOR repairs, he decides not to do them at all, telling the real estate agency that we rented our house from that the house needs no repairs and we're "just exaggerating". i take photos and videos of the OVEN WITH NO OVEN RACKS, the MOLDY CEILING, the ROTTING DOOR, and the HOLE IN THE CEILING. they gasp in horror, and tell me to hire a contractor and deduct the cost- just like that water bill, from the rent.

i got a notice last week that the house is being foreclosed.

rent is due in 2 days, i don't even know if i have to pay any at this point.

anyway. the face painting season ended today and i went out in a blaze of neon colors and glitter.

i'm going to NYC tomorrow for my friend andrea's birthday where i'll dress up as a bat and go out with loads of people from richmond to dance. i haven't made my costume yet. this right here is me putting it off.

dave and i are starting a new band which is about to have its first practice. it's going to be punk, inspired by reagan youth's 2nd record, with melodic oi-influenced vocals. i'm so excited.

time to rinse the henna out of my hair, and get to making bat wings. hope everyone is well....

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