Inner Musings

Friday, June 01, 2001

I have a renewed hate for math. I can't stand it or its evil minions. The small amount of satisfaction that I glean from its mastery is inevitably dampened by the petulant and self-conciously self-righteousness of the evil student teacher who seems to think that she's my intellectual superior simply because she's the one wielding the overhead pen.

I landed a job at Starbucks in the airport. Soon, my friends, I'll be working for the man. The guy who runs the place is actually pretty cool; he says that I can make as little as two days a week or up to forty hours. The forty hours sounds kind of sick, but it's nice to know that the option's open. Either way, it's work, and work equals money, so it can't be a bad deal. Maybe it'll be easier working for a corporation rather than a bastardly private owned corporation who's second-in-command is a raging, jealous bitch. Brunhilda haunts my dreams, folks. I'm listening to Gregorian monk chanting.

I saw Wesley walking with some other girls today, and I felt a characteristic tug of jealousy. Look out below! This means one of two things: 1) I like him so much that I want to claim him as my own, but more than likely it is 2) that I feel my duty as a snogger is to feel this sort of jealousy. Even more likely than that is that it is 3) I'm a crazy egomaniac who feels that everyone should fall madly in love with me, and no one else. Kind of a humorous interpretation on such a truly screwed up situation.

Wesley told me that he's going in for a job interview tonight, but that he'll give me a call. (No sooner than ten o' clock, no doubt.) I have the SAT's tomorrow morning, so I'm wondering how I'm going to balance the two. Hm...

Anemone Ra 4:03 PM

Thursday, May 31, 2001

The epiphonies are coming like rain, people.

I think Alex W. may be a nothing more than a piece of meat. Want to know what is the most unsexiest thing ever? A man without a personality. Literally. Yuck. Macho men make me run for the porcelain, something that I forgot. And since his presence is hardly a stimulating mental venture (our conversations meter at the "idioteque" mark), I find myself bored and slightly uncomfortable with the testosterone that he is forever eschewing. We took a walk down at the beach today. Perfect little romantic stroll, right? Uh, no. He picked up logs and flexed. Vaguely entertaining, but for someone with such potential...I hate to see a waste of beauty. Then again, the beautiful tend to be boring and lucky. So I can't blame him. I must at least temporarily eliminate him from my "remote possibility" list. At least I can keep up a steady banter with Wesley. At least Wesley, at his very drunkest (is that a word?) will continue a conversation. Alex just makes bug-eyes at me. It's different, I'll say.

I must remember that I can't rely on my friends. I'll get on great with them for a week or so, and then they'll just be heinous bitches to me. Why are teenage girls so goddamn unlikable? The only people who get on well with them are horny old men. I try so hard to find the "right sort of girl" that I can be friends with, but I imagine that they're all too much of an effort. We're too damn emotional! I can't stand myself.

I wonder what Boell is up to.

Night.

Anemone Ra 9:49 PM

Wednesday, May 30, 2001

Wanna hear a story? Sure, you do.

So Wesley calls me after school, just like he said he would. (About five hours after I expected him to.) Around eight o'clock. So he picks me up, and yes, we're talking about the soccer-playing-top-gun-loving-skinny-alcoholic, and for some reason we head to the school parking lot. The reason is apparently this: to hang around with Gemini and two of his friends, shoot the shit for a half an hour, and then leave. Wesley and I head back to his house, where he plays the same damn Vengaboys song over and over again until I force him to put something better on, threatening to plague him with an overwhelming sense of unease.

We wound up listening to Jay-Z and making out on his bed underneath the chili lights and a huge ass fishing net. It was one of the few epiphonies I've experienced in my life. Don't ask me why, but he's pinned up a net to his ceiling and he sticks stuff all in and around it. Apparently everything in it is symbolic. I asked him what a particular black light bulb meant, and he said, deadpan: "Death." I think he was kidding, but Wesley pretended to be offended and refused to tell me the rest of the stuff's hidden meanings. Anyways.

So we start talking after a while, and I'm pestering him to tell me how he feels. You know, "So how the hell do you feel about me?" Unfortunately, he's like me. Evasive. And between the two of us, we get jack shit done. So we tried to have a discussion for like, ever, but it was hard because we're both emotionally constipated, and it was around eleven o' clock on a school night. Well, I was more concerned about that than he was. Up close he resembles Kermit the Frog (slightly). Another epiphony hits, this time more like a battering ram than a cat o' nine tails:

I'm going to have an interesting time with this one.

Anemone Ra 11:13 PM

Want to see Wesley? Click .

What a Wonder, Wonderland. Today has been somewhat of a relief after all the crazy hypersexual ultraconfusion of my semi-drunken weekend. Not at all uninteresting, though. Emre actually spoke to me today; it was something about some "loped-out" car crash he had witnessed this weekend. So we're cool. On "smiling" terms, if you know what I mean. Although our break-up was entirely weird and even a little sketchy, he's still a really cool guy, whom I would love to be friends with. And I talked with Boell, so everything between us is cool, if not a little weird. Things are happening!

And I'm all giddy around Wesley. Just like a sixth-grader. Ackachooie. I dunno. I'm outtie for now. Giddy, giddy me.

Anemone Ra 6:04 PM

Tuesday, May 29, 2001

As if my life weren't already all fucked up, Boell decides to add himself to a list of entirely maddening things that are happening right now. AS IF MY LIFE WEREN'T ALREADY ALL FUCKED UP!!! He wrote me a note today during class, in endearingly broken English. (I've received such missives before, however, the last chap with such inventive grammar was someone who had dyslexia. Whole different story.)

It reads a little something exactly like this, question-mark-in-parentheses and all:

Holy fucking shit!!! My god! I'm attracting strange, piecey men left and right! It's not like I'm such a righteous babe or anything, I just have people who like me (who are only cosmically similar in the fact that they are attracted to me.) Let's look that the ones that like me. First, there's Wesley. Soccer-playing-school-spirited-skinny-alcoholic. Then, there's Alex W. Guitar-playing-duck-shooting-weight-lifting-truck-driving-molester. ( I like that last description the best, I think.) And then there's the rap-loving-picture-taking-goofy-German-import. How the hell am I supposed to go out with you? I like you so much, but, you live in Germany! I must be emitting pheromones. And international ones, at that. Christ. I'm not complaining, persay, I can think of several things which could be worse, but you can understand my dilemma, of course. And the fact that I got drunk and made out with one of the aforementioned last weekend does nothing for my mental state.

I'm going downtown tonight to another poetry reading at the Globe Cafe', with Taylor, my good buddy. Perhaps it will give me some perspective on this tentative and noxious soap opera manuscript that I call my life.

Anemone Ra 2:51 PM

Monday, May 28, 2001

Hot. Damn.

Where do I start? How about: last night was the strangest? wacked? insane? weirdest? night ever. For starters, Wesley picked me up to go to Joseph's house, where a bunch of people were hanging out. It was pretty cool. The numbers dwindled as the night wore on. I got pretty faded. The most I've ever been, I'd have to say, but then again, I've never gotten shit-faced. I was eight or so in the hole, and Wesley, who is no longer in custody of his own liver, was four ahead of me. I "spent the night at Moon's house" so there may be some moral reparations there. But read on. I think I may have found just that.

Wesley has liked me for a very long time. And he's a good looking kid. Really nice to me. Everyone's always saying "blah blah" about him, this or that, but it's stuff that they say about everyone. Sounds general, sure. But no big deal. I had a great time at Josephs' house, but it seems that every party that I've ever been to has been interrupted by something of a "police" nature. Oh well. One of these days, my dumb ass is going to get a MIP. Then it'll be all over. Anyhoodle. So Wesley is a nice guy. I like hanging out with him. And he's been sprung off of me for a while now.

But we're not even NEAR the interesting part yet. So I'm getting fucked, what with the gratuitous amounts of alkie pumping through my veins. Joseph is getting friendly, and Wesley, a good four ahead of me, still is in "driving condition". So we take off, and since I can't go home, I go to his house. Hm.

So we hit the bed. No, there was no sex. Let's just eliminate that preliminarily. But all of a sudden we're kissing, and I'm sitting there thinking how one might describe my weekend to Monday: "Yeah, I broke up with Emre, got drunk, and made out with Wesley." It was enough to make me laugh. Which I did. It was very weird to think back on. I'm crossing lines and breaking shit left and right. This has entered the "REALM OF WEIRD", a place where people eat strained bananas and everyone is forever on a big ass acid trip. I'm trying to maintain a grasp on the "hello-there-darling-you-just-got-out-of-yet-another-relationship-what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing" part of my brain which is screaming like a drunken accordian player who has just discovered that "Claire-de-Lune" is in fact French by origin, and not Yugoslavian. Truly, devastating.

So I'm frantically holding onto my whimsical "single" status which is waiting to be passed into the hands of some (more than likely undeserving) high school boy who probably has no idea what a treasure ("shatz" in German) they're handling.

I'm chewing on this: in my demi-intoxicat state, I asked Wesley, "What do you think of me?"

His answer, most perplexing: "I like the way you look, and I like your personality. You're my only friend who isn't...fake."

Anemone Ra 3:27 PM

Sunday, May 27, 2001

Today was entirely weird. My dad is insane. He's been in nothing but the most irritating/irritable mood today. I suffered through dinner with him, as he chewed his food at supersonic volumes. I'm surprised none of the china was damaged. For some reason, my mother was upset and she left the house. To the "book store." I only hope that she's not purchasing any semi-automatic firearms. And that it's not my fault. Entirely selfish of me, but hey. It's honest. Aeran and I have been getting along fairly well. It bodes well for our trip to the Queen Charlotte Islands this summer.

I was supposed to go out tonight with Wesley, whom I ran into at church today. It was kind of strange, because oh wait! He's just called. I'm out tonight. Peace, world. Update later.

Anemone Ra 10:07 PM