a conveniently selective memory

i had reviewed a period before. (this was really the only preparation i had done, but that's besides the point.) i'm four questions into the test, just getting over my separation anxiety from my calculator (poor thing, i bet it missed me, and i certainly missed it, writing out my multiplications), when there it was, the derivative of inverse cosine. the sherlock system (that's a file finding system, you silly, mac-less losers) in my head had worked wonders to find the quotient rule, but this file was corrupted, like those attachments you sometimes get; under the square root sign were strategies for playing hearts. (now this would be the time when i bang down the shift, option, apple, "q," and escape keys, knowing that some combination (i have no idea which), force-quits the current application.) so i do the best that i can: i curse and make stuff up.

twelve hours later, i'm sitting, fishnet-ed, next to a lipstick-ed rie, in a glittering theater, basking in applause. i haven't been to rocky horror in ages. and i mean ages, early july. (interestingly enough, the first time i ever went was halloween weekend, and chuck played the same halloween theme song this time—though now with some al-qaeda and bush references—as he did the night when i was a real virgin.) then the lights fall, and i am silent with antici—say it, say it—pation. i had been so afraid i wouldn't remember a call-back. but from some magically happy portion of my memory allocated to this sole purpose, out they came.

on identites, milkshakes, ritalin, and insecurity

(also known as a series of statements no one will understand)

identities—
the lack of attraction makes everything so much simpler.
compulsive liars can know when each other is lying.
presentation of yourself is everything.
your own thoughts make more sense coming out of some one else's mouth.

milkshakes—
make it that much easier.

ritalin—
too bad for your existence.

insecurity—
funny how it reveals itself where you least expect it.

friends seminary's rendition of bye bye birdie's telephone hour

-hi, Nancy!
-hi, Helen!
What's the story, morning glory?
What's tale, nightingale?
-Tell me quick about Hugo and Kim!
-Hi, Margie!
-Hi, Alice!
What's the story, morning glory?
What's the word, humming bird?
-Have you heard about Hugo and Kim!
Did they really get pinned?
Did she kiss him and cry?
Did he pin the pin on?
Or was he too shy?
Well, I heard they got pinned
-Yeah! Yeah!
I was hopin' they would!
-Oho!
Now they're livin' at last,
Goin' steady for good!...



crayolarabbit (8:40:18 PM): did you hear?
...
TheFriskyOyster (8:40:39 PM): what?!?!?

NightVampire2 (8:53:50 PM): thats...
NightVampire2 (8:54:21 PM): insane.

barbarescooo (9:14:06 PM): WHATTT?A?T?TT
barbarescooo (9:14:10 PM): are you KIDDING

JFisc43606 (9:28:37 PM): it's unbearably good
JFisc43606 (9:28:45 PM): like god couldn't have created a better gossip

julieC7 (9:34:50 PM): WHAT
julieC7 (9:34:54 PM): HOLY SHIT!
JulieC7 (10:11:08 PM): i'm flabbergasted
JulieC7 (10:21:19 PM): i can't believe it
JulieC7 (10:21:22 PM): and i can't wait to tell everyone

Angelo di Perla (10:14:26 PM): what's next?
Angelo di Perla (10:14:50 PM): this is madness



and it's only 10:00...

P.S. Nancy (Tracy), Helen (Hayley), Margie (Martha)...coincidence?

P.P.S. I love Sofia

there's no bathroom in sam's basement; martha's bladder is small

quotes of the evening at pucci's (all acknowledge tracy for her magically convincing combination of puppy dog eyes and cleavage. and i supose rie helped.):

TheFriskyOyster (9:26:10 PM): "sam, maybe you should head over to your dad's house"
(puts on red cowboy boots; rie accessorizes)
STRONgear3 (9:26:47 PM): "...why?" —
STRONgear3 (9:26:50 PM): "tracy" —
STRONgear3 (9:27:06 PM): "why, are people gonna be there before ten?" —
STRONgear3 (9:27:11 PM): "tracy..."
STRONgear3 (9:27:16 PM): "TRACY!?"
...
TheFriskyOyster (9:29:35 PM): "about that whole 10 thing..."
TheFriskyOyster (9:27:48 PM): "people were a little more excited than expected..."

(to cole) "awwww, he's soo cute" —lia
"i know, don't you want one" —rie

(sam's basement)
"huh, it doesn't look like too many people peed on it" —lia
"marry me." —me

"tra—" (falls) "—cy" (gets up) —jean
"just down the block, number 33" —me (points west and walks east)
"but why are you this way?" —jean
"pizza run" —me
...
(phone rings)
"hey, um, what number?" —jean

"mmm cheesey goodness" —martha

(back in the basement)
"woah, benjie, you're eyes are..." (stops and looks around the room) —me
"heh. heh." —benjie
"oh man" (shakes head) —me

"i'm here to be a buzz-kill" —hayley

"you know, by square inch i'm more scared of you than anyone else" —danny
"why, darling?" (batts eyes) —me

"tracy, you are the only person i know who would fill a cup of vodka to the top" —jess
"it has cranberry juice in it too" (gulps) "and hey, i bought that cranberry juice" (gulps) —me
"time for a re-fill, sweetie?" —jess

"uuuhhh yeaaa, pucci, shake it!" —martha
(shakes it) —pucci

"check" —benjie
"check" —will
...
"owwwwwww!" —me
"man, you put out my cigarette with your arm!" —will
(smacks) —me
"kiss it better?" —will

"yeah, put on that space jams soundtrack" —peter

"1, 0...2, 0...3, 0..." —will
"shouldn't hitting the light bulb count for something?" —me

"you guys, i can't see out here" —me "it's really d—" (pucci jumps out)
(screech) —me

"mmmmm, donut pub" —me
"oh man, i'm never getting home" —will

don't you wish you had one of these lying around?

moved to speak:

I was watching the presidential debates wednesday night (of course), when my sister sat down next to me and asked what i was watching. (she also asked why there weren't any songs, but that's besides the point.)
"well, these two people are trying to be the president" i say...
she has no idea what the president is, i realize.
"hmmm....let's see....where do we live, addie?"
"new york" she says, as if every three-year-old knows this (she knows her phone number too...in case you're wondering)
"okay, but where is new york?"
....
"well, new york is in americ—"
"the'merican flag!"
"right." (pause to recover) "well, you know how mommy and daddy take care of all of us, like get us clothes and food and stuff"
"mmm-hmm"
"well, the president is supposed to take care of everyone in america" i say. and mean it.
"but there are two" she says, then proves it by counting them.
"right. we get to choose which one we want"
"how do you choose?"
"well...it's based on a whole bunch of things like" (i stop) "how would you choose?"
she scrunches her face in thought....then it comes to her, "the one that gives ice pops to everyone." at this moment i know we have another marxist in the family.

couldn't the world do with a little more wisdom from toddlers?

there's something really twisted about the way my mind works...

granted, i expect more people's minds operate similarly...they just don't admit it.

let me explain. i want everyone to like me. everyone and their mothers. and not just like me, be passionately, deeply, madly in love with me. i want to make some one cry in agony over their desire. i want suicide attempts.

and i do not want to return this love. oh god, no.

i want that icy stare of collected cruel: so many years of admiration and adoration become one lip curled up and two eyes that glaze with their own superiority. t-rex's electric warrior will be my theme of un-emotion.

and (oh yes, there's more), once these sad individuals try to escape, then will i give them more hope then they ever thought they had....


to the one i never got: you're next.
to my latest experiment in toys: i wish i could say i regret it...
to the one that threw it all back at me: the same.

a hopeful atheist

in the true spirit of procrastination, i give you tracy's positions on the existence of god(s):

Con—
1. god is just some figment of human imagination trying to give an otherwise meaningless existence a purpose (this life may suck, but there is a next), to explain anything that goes wrong (too bad my house just burned down and my entire family died, but it's all a part of god's plan), and to justify acting orderly (you must be good to your parents, not steal, and not murder, or you won't get into heaven). hell, by this logic, religion could be a conspiracy of the elite to discourage revolutions and maintain the status quo by conditioning the masses to reject dissent.

2. physics and biology.

3. as soon as i turn on the tv to watch the yankees up by 8, the red sox score 5.

Pro—
1. what's the point of living if there's nothing to be gained from life?

2. 13 hours of pain can produce 7 lbs 13 oz of perfection.

3. dy/dx(sinx) = cosx.

i just hope he's not like the one i know...

cole is here: 7 lbs 13 oz of baby gilson-rosenthal. big gray eyes, my nose (poor thing) and a pouty lower lip that a model would kill for.

less than 48 hours ago there was no such person.

funny, but i really only have a year with this kid. i supose that means he'll never really know me except as this strange, inter-mittent adult figure of awesomeness. which i don't mind at all. same with addie really. she won't remember all those (goddamn) times i baby-sat her. she's not taking sharing parental attention too well i don't think, poor thing. lucky for me, the more they have to deal with the less i get bothered...

for the past two days, i spent about 12 hours in total sitting in a hospital with my eyes dividing their time between the baby and his mother. for the baby, i check to see that he hasn't disapeared every four seconds and that he hasn't stopped breathing every ten; with any facial expression i'm sent into five minutes of "awws." for jennifer, i stare at her open-mouthed. though i doubt she's showered or slept, i swore as i was sitting across from her that she, right then, was the most beautiful woman i have ever seen. if pregnant women glow, i have no fucking clue what she was doing, but it may have hurt my eyes.