Wednesday, December 4, 2002

time to dig out that alanis cd

Because I don't have a fucking guitar, and even worse for my cause of being an angsty chick singer, I don't know how to fucking play one. I was walking home from the Midnight Breakfast shindig awhile ago, walking home by myself, and so full of rage for the first time in a long time. It was such a good feeling - I sang obscenities and felt like I could have kicked anyone's ass and it was a great fucking feeling of pure rage, of malicious hatred for my fellow students here at this fucking place. And yeah, the angsty chick singing: I ranted and half sang, "Oh, you're a fucking asshole." Stretch it out, break up those syllables and croon it, it feels so fucking good. Direct it to that person you are not pleased with, that person that you think is a motherfucking asshole, make it personal, include their name in the song to get the full angsty chick rock effect. And since I don't have a guitar, since my singing can only please me so much, I need another outlet for my rage, and so here we go in "You Oughta Know" fashion, ready to fucking rage at you, you fucking asshole.

And yeah, the crush is over now, I can admit it to you guys, fold my hand, show you the cards I was holding, the cards I had already let half the table see. I had a crush on this boy Ben Haber and for a while it was a little out of control, I was a little obsessed you might say. I made him another secret admirer card yesterday, drunk off of wine, off of Cabernet Sauvignon, and giddy with having a crush, and feeling like making a little love note. And so I did, and last night went to put it in his box, and checked it today like the good crush-holder that I am, to make sure he picked it up, which he did. Whoo!

And then I went to the Town Meeting today and plopped myself down in front of him, which I did not realize until halfway through the thing and drank far too much coffee for my own good, coffee from which I am only now recovering. After the meeting, I laid in bed, sick with the massive amounts of coffee and Papa John's pizza swirling around in my stomach. I slept for a couple of hours, woke up and wanted to cry, felt that I physically had to, not because I was sad, but just my body wanted to cry from some weird caffeine high. And whatever, fuck you!!!

Okay so yeah, I did not say one word to my crush at the town meeting, I am big fat wimp, I know, I need no reminders. And so later, in discussion with my roommates, in my crush-gushing, I resolved to definitly talk to him tonight! tonight at that midnight breakfast thingy, I was going to be brave and try to talk to him,

but oh again, I should just cut and paste, because again I didn't talk to him, I'm a sad, pathetic wimp, and again, I need no reminders. While eating pancakes covered in syrup and whipped cream, eating the yumm yummy things, I looked to the side, and saw Ben Haber engaged in conversation with none other than the subject of my angsty chick rock songs: Andrew "motherfucking asshole" (with crooned syllables) Hossack. And yeah, I have some history with Andrew, things are weird, and I know how he talks to people he likes, who he is hitting on. There is a certain stance, a body language, and I saw it, and was so, so, so sad - and sort of jealously hoping that the conversation would end soon. I am a sad loser - yes, it is all true, so true. And they talked some more and I recalled a conversation with Motherfucking Asshole in which I was sort of telling him about how cute Ben Haber was, and he was contesting my claims, countering them with claims that some other boy was so cute.

And then, they left together. As Sara Latshaw, who I just encountered here in the library told me, it was just a walk. But Sara said that is the type of thing she gets really upset about too. Walks. And I took a few today after I felt like crap from the caffeine, believing that walks were good, were the best thing, that fresh air was and is all that is needed to rouse the spirits. And seeing them walk off together definitly roused the spirits, it was something I was trying to ignore, I tried instead to focus on whatever it was Sam Grindstaff was saying, on his new haircut, but then Beki pointed at the leaving party with an aghast mouth, reminded me of what I was trying not to see. And yeah, down with crushes.

I need to make myself some cards, get a crush on myself, leave them in my box to get the next time I check my mail, so I will smile with delight, need to stop investing energy into fags here, it is always something silly, something stupid. And you're a motherfucking asshole. I'm going to write a song about you. Forget the dream of horses. All is full of rage.

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