hands

Orange peels on dolls and in subways corners that no one sniffs. Orange peel kisses, like leather and citrus together in one. To be swallowed in the sea would be a fantastic voyage of ireconcible differences between you and I. Our hair could swim in front of our eyes and I cannot see orange peels anymore. Swallow the sea and it's stating the obvious of human nature as we swim and are swallowed by the sea which we swallow too. Just like orange peels. Only not. Go tither, come hither. Third time is a charm bracelet with a shamrock that is not lucky in love, just like my heart that dangles from the silver chain. I feel solemn now when glitter and emeralds sink to the bottom of the swallowing sea. Just like orange peels. Rip and toss and rip and toss and away. Out of sight, out of mind. Go and paint fences, see if I care. Be active in persperation, but do not come back to my handle bars looking for a ride. Do not coax my mouth with your tracing paper. Sketch me a picture of your favorite sunset in December and make me cry tar because it's too painful. Like orange peels. Rip and toss and rip and toss. Rest in peace, orange peels as I rip, rip, rip you from your heartbeat. Juices slither down my fingertips and your juices taste sweet like citrus. Orange peel kisses on Mondays and Sundays, and any other day that ends in "day." Piano and jazz music in hearts and in subway stations that no one pays for. Breach of contract, you and I.And the sea that swallows sinfully. Us whole. Hands tied behind backs and stab backs with blood green hands. Bags of cocaine look like snowglobes. This is all nonsense because picket fences will always be painted by you and for you and I will be angry with a can of spray paint, waiting to destroy your picket fences. Baracade with picket fences; hold me in, or shun me out. And I will paint green and red and black hearts on your fence. And sign with orange peels and follow the juices that drip from my fingertips to the floor. And you know it's me. And...

Murder She Wrote

So I have this feeling that I'm being stalked. Not necessarily around campus (besides Eli), but on myspace. I think people hack into passwords and go on my page. It'd make a lot of sense if the person was crazy and jealous. Yeah, that's what I'm going with. I get lots of views on my myspace page. Yeah, I know I'm really popular and everyone loves to look at my cookies and milk love eachother and my sexy pictures, which really aren't as sexy as my milk and cookies loving eachother. But in five minutes of signing on, I'll get like eight views from someone and I feel like they're watching me. Oh crap. Someone is gonna slit my throat.

I think I smell. I have two distinct odors on my body. I have my perfume (which I doused on my body quite heavily because I have not showered in two days) and I also have Dave's clothes. I guess from the fabric softener? But the combination of not showering and smelling like other things than clean skin, makes me feel like I smell. Maybe not totally awful (because how bad can I really smell?)...just not like I want to smell like. I'll shut up now.

I haven't written in this thing for a long time. I have been a very busy girl lately and I feel like there is much to catch up on. Where do I begin? Well, we started a new class on Monday. And I abhor it. You have no idea. There is way too much reading, too many generalizations made and an excess of typical Jewish mother disease. No joke. My professor encompasses all that is a Jewish mother from Brooklyn. And guess what? She is a Jewish mother from Brooklyn. Ya know the type, right? Nagging, controlling, unsatisfied, and guilt-provoking? Not to mention the voice. The next two weeks should be a sort of hell; a new one that I have yet to experience. Like a Chinese water torture, only Jewish and without water. Don't get me wrong, I love the Jews and the culture, but not three weeks and three hours a day of that bullshit. We cannot have an opinion that is not her's, we can't talk when we want, and she is a stickler for the rules that don't even exist. And she says "fuck" from time to time, trying to be cool, but we can all tell that she is uncomfortable doing it. hhmmm....What else is new? I am currently in the museum "working." It's a tough job, coming here and searching fun stuff on the computer while listening to music and singing along. My life is such a struggle. There were people here today, but none of them came to visit the gallery; three of them were film students who were filming the gallery's paintings for a project (and one of them was really cute and flirting with me...and he was a negro!) and one was an annoying old white lady (who apparently teaches Spanish here) with a fur coat and hat. I'm gonna take a leap here and say that she was also a Jewish mother just because she was dissatisfied with everything I told her and she made me feel bad for not having answers. But maybe she should stop wearing so much dead carcass hair on her body. Yeah...my brain is puree right now. I haven't gotten a sufficient amount of sleep over the past, I dont know, three weeks and I've just been exhausted running hither and such. And lack of sleep from last night did not help as well. I'd just like everyone to know that Dave also talks in his sleep and laughs about what he says in his sleep because he's apparently the funniest human being to himself while in REM sleep. Or whatever that stage is. Speaking of REM sleep, I really want to take more psychology courses. Speaking of psychology courses, I have applied to both Geneseo and New Paltz and I hope to hear from them sometime soon so I can leave the dumbasses at Hofstra and do something good? with myself. I want to be near the city, but not here. Just not here. I think Oswald will be sad, and it may strain the relationship, but I am willing to sacrifice our lust for a better education...and perhaps a new financial aid counselor person to hurt when they speak. I'm a sadistic fool. Or just sadistic. Or just a fool.

My butt is going numb from sitting down for about three hours straight. It's just me and the African paintings chillin' with my playlist. I wonder if the little black boy likes Red Hot Chili Peppers, or if maybe I should play some Ray Charles for him. It's funny how the paintings, fervent with color, become blank on the wall when you sit here for a while. I forget from time to time what's on the wall and that they tell a story and are stories for other people. If I stare at them long enough, the eyes start to look at me. Ya know that kind of picture that, no matter where you stand, it glares at you? Well, that's it here. Yeah, my butt is less numb now.

I need to stop fucking up so much.

Love will be the death of you

When it comes to sex, it is Gemini's habit to feign naivete. Even in her practical, long term relationships, the bedroom is one place she can't help but put on a bit of a show. Gemini instinctually lets a man off the hook of having to perform spectaculary, something she finds to be hurdle to the kind of low stakes roll in the hay she enjoys anyway. She doesn't like to go too deep into a sexual experience, literally or figuratively, much preferring to keep activities light and superficial. She may be blatantly vulnerable, but she pretty much goes willingly, rarely needing to put up a fuss since it's already planted in her partner's mind that he's conveying precious cargo when he takes Gemini on an erotic trip. She plays the protege, literally the "protected", seeking to be taken under her man's wing. Role playing is endemic to her sex life as, in a way, she's never not engaging it. She will alight upon many acts and positions during a single interlude, so long as she's never made to explore any one too profoundly. Her skin is sensitive and may react wildly to even the slightest touch. Just as she is a master of psycological manipulation, she, in turn, likes to be physically teased, the element of surprise being highly arousing to her. She may even enjoy being tied down occationally, with a steady partner, that is, who'll take her to the edge, with light touches and licks, and how much tactile torment she can take. A lover must always remain alert and flexible to her ever changing moods. When it comes to intercourse, the Twins actually prefers to be on top, where she can control the pace and positioning. There is always a sense of the Gemini self-pleasuring in bed, as if her partner is mere a tool for her own masturbatory masterwork. Whereas most women find male homosexuality a hands down turnoff, the Gemini may be both psychologically intrigued and erotically titillated. In fact, she'd sooner engage in a threesome with two men as opposed to the more commonplace girl guy girl menage, knowing she won't be the overwhelming focus.


Straight turn-ons: Younger boyish men, married men, seduction, playing ingenue, basketball players, Africans, Latins, one-night stands, exhibitionism, mutual masturbation, standing sex, speedy thrusting, quickies, teachers, professors, masturbation during sex, doctor/nurse role-play, phone/cyber sex, treasure trails, goatees, (active) oral sex, (passive) lite b+d, bi men, bi porn, vibrators, dildos, tickling, pinching, teasing, (passive) nipple play, swapping, girl-on-girl.


Thank you, OKCupid.com =)

I just thought I'd post this little tid bit for everyone to read.

I'm in love with how you feel

I have been a busy bee this past month. College seems to be coming into itself and it's acting as it should; how it was promised that it would be. I have freedom and friends and fun. I have a routine of class, then lunch with Karen and a nap (or work), then dinner with the gang (where we proceed to stay at dinner hours after we have finished actually eating dinner) then a rousing old time at the gym, followed by a shower and either homework or chillin' in Dave's room until about 2am. It sounds melancholy, but it's really fun to go about my life in such a manner. The eighteen manner. Let's just act my age, not my waist size (teehee). A way in which my worries are limited (though I'm always stressed) and my existence is to have fun. And build friendships with people that I will probably never see again if I/we transfer. And don't forget building muscle and self-esteem and hearts and minds and souls and laughter and lungs. I will collapse. Hofstra was not a mistake though it is crazy expensive and it was not my first choice. I learned more here outside of the classroom than I did inside (that's for shizzle), yet it was all worth it. Time away from home and friends at home was and is worth it. We all appreciate eachother more this way. If I only come home every three weeks and stay for a day or two, it's okay. No one suffers without me. I don't suffer without them. I am growing. I am this little growing bud and the college experience was just spring time, shedding just enough light and sprinkling just enough rain on me to help me sprout spiritually and mentally. It's just a Patchogue thing to feel left behind. To feel like suburbia is the only thing that sucks in your life and it chains you down to the pavement and nothing ever changes. The lens is always blurry when things are the same. Let's all breathe in some NYC pollution and inhale cigarette smoke (maybe even some weed) and we're all just charming and snazzy. We can snuggle and cuddle and love and hate and drink and kiss and it's okay. Home is where the roots are, and I trip on them from time to time. I notice such a difference from Fran there and Fran here. Mostly when I'm home for too long and I'm just melancholy. Nothing is melancholy here. Time doesn't drag. I dont feel as awkward or imperfect. I'm just me and I'm accepted by hands and knees and tummies and legs. It's all okay. It's all just okay. Let's just sing and dance together, eh? Maybe I'll sing for everyone but Matt, eh? =)

Baby it's cold outside

I'm keeping the forks from now on. I am sick and tired of picking up forks, knives and spoons for everyone only for me to never be able to use them. Last night I wanted to eat soup but I couldn't because there were no utensils. Funny because I picked up about ten forks about a week ago and didn't use one...and now they're gone. And I'm sick of taking out the garbage and cleaning up the bathroom every few days because no one knows how to do their make up without getting it all over the counter. I am tired of coming into an empty suite with every single light on. I am tired of walking in the bathroom and hearing the shower leaking because someone didn't care enough to shut the water completely off. Since last night, when I couldn't eat soup, I decided that I would not share the forks anymore. I should be able to eat my soup when I want and not have to worry about forks. I took about six today, and I intend on keeping them for myself (unless they ask). It's not my problem that they don't have forks. I am not their mommy. I should not have to clean up the scraps of toilet paper on the floor, take out the garbage EVERYDAY, clean up the common room which I did NOT make filthy and be responsible for filling up the toilet paper dispensers because they forgot how, or something. Oh, and it's really irritating when...someone...uses my bed to lay on and leaves the covers and pillows a mess. And when someone leaves their shoes and hair brush on my side of the bed...when it isn't even that someon's room. I'm through with cleaning all of the time and not even getting a thank you. Am I their mother? I guess so because when they clean they expect all of the praise in the world. Sorry that you had someone to pick up after you your whole life, but it should stop here, right? I am not mama Fran...just Fran. If I wanted to be a mother, I would have kept the baby.

Now excuse me while I eat my soup with MY forks.

I can dish it out, but I can't take it

It's the little little little little little things that count the most. Just like pores only smaller. Just like eyelashes, only more delicate. Just like rubies, but only more red red red red red red red. They walk to the beat of their own drum. Thud thud thud thud. Gush of water and daisies breathe one last time before the ship sinks sinks sinks sinks so slowly into the frigid water. Blue and thick thick thick like my father's eyes, only those are thick thick thick thick of childishness and love. Eloquent downfalls that make me cry cry cry cry a river; I finally have enough to do that. Make it blue blue blue and thick thick thick thick. But only for a bit because the piano makes you sad when the black comes. No, we want red red red red red or blue blue blue blue. Chocolate kisses and caramel body parts that are so sweet to suck on. But shhh, shhhh shhhh shhhh shhhh shhhhh don't tell mommy. She would get mad. Maybe disapprove and I don't want to wear that hat and carry that candle that glows from miles away. Green miles. Blue hills. Thick daisies sigh and sink and erupt into volcanoes for angels to sleep on. Sleep sleep sleep sleep. Death. Only twice. Only three times. No more please. I don't have enough tears to cry cry cry cry cry. I want to be happy, Cathy. Stop being so obtuse. Happy is not bad, it's delicate like eyelashes and sweet like the little little little little little things. Stop being so clitty, Cathy. Just sew the buttons on. Do it all of the time. Needle and thread, thread and needle, pull through once or twice. Then prick and bleed bleed bleed red red red and thick. Daisies choke and roots wither away to dust. Nose slopes slopes noses slope. Only twice, A and B, but those two don't matter because it's about A and C, B and C. Nope. Nothing else. Don't look back and don't tell mommy. She would get mad and make me go away to the cemetary to pray to you and say sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry for my gloppy eyelashes that leak black tar. I cry cry cry cry cry when I see red red red red and blue hills. Up and down in and out only to trickle into tomorrow. Stomp on the daisies like unfortunate pavement. No prisoners. Just punish the daisies because they are too pretty for burdened burdened burdened burning burning eyes burning burning eyes of fire. Melancholy jeans and rubies of red red red. Cranberries of red red red red. Blue hills thick that go up and down down down down then up only once. Well, maybe twice. Three times like death. But no more please, I like my daddy's eyes, Cathy. Don't be so clitty and don't tell mommy....she will get mad. And sad and a sad mommy is no mommy at all. All, everything, nothing. The door locks click click click click and giggle giggle giggle. Special lips touch like pious hands. Sex is a religion that everyone follows. God God God God gods God. Skin with black pastels smudged smudged black pastels on skin and face. But not my eyes because the needle and thread must get through to sew the buttons. Buttons must be sewn and sex is a religion that everyone follows. Buttons only twice, maybe three times by seven...if only it were eight. But not eight at once not four, but now three for seven. Three for seven three for seven three four is seven. Seven and three is ten. Fingers on my hands, June hands. June june june june june june. Pretty sun that screeches and kills daisies. Run over. Splat. Squash squash squash. Dead. It's B. B is that, not what you think. Just squash, B. B squash. B B B B B B. Only three times for seven. No buttons? Maybe buttons, not sure. Only sew the prisoners for the daisies. Daisies are for the cool girls and sleep is for the eyelashes. Sex is a religion which everyone follows. Just as much as the little little little little little little things count. Just like pores, but only smaller. Sex is a religion which everyone follows, as delicate as eyelashes. Curl me in sex like eyelashes, but not in globs globs globs at the stone stone stone stone. Knees seep into the moist ground and I'm sucked into the hills with the dead daisies. Daisies daisies are flowers like sex is a religion which everyone follows. Lips touch behind closed doors and closed eyes eyes eyes. Thick and blue like my father's. Smile, Daddy's little girl, your picture on his lap now. Oh Cathy, don't be so clitty and don't tell mommy about daisies and sex. Never tell mommy. Whisper into teddy's ears for good secrets. Secrets in my mind and in sewn buttons. We sew sew sew sew sew buttons on jackets like secrets and sex is a religion which everyone follows. Just like we talk during movies and throw popcorn popcorn, buttery like butterflies of green and gold and sunshine with sunglasses that you lost. Hands in pockets and up shirts behind closed doors. Pastel skin up against smudged skin behind closed doors like pious hands because sex is a religion that we all follow. Just like the road to nowhere. Just like the road to everywhere. Dirt and chickens with no heads in this place of sacrifice. East and West just like A and C, but not B B B. I like D though. Just not B. I love you, knees. Keep me above ground and steady as I run across thick thick thick thick hills and stomp on daisies like unfortunate pavement. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck. Sex is just a religion that everyone follows. Just don't tell mommy, Cathy. Just don't. But if it slips, tell her it's delicate like eyelashes and sweet like honey. Then then then then then then then then then sex sex sex sex sex fucking fucking is just a religion which everyone follows.

Walk away

I need to talk to Brittany. She is my savior when it comes to the advice I need to hear. She and I are very similar and when I'm too retarded to understand why I should or shouldn't think something, I go to her because, in a clear state of mind, she gives me the answer that I'd give myself. It's basically in response to the blog that I wrote last night about me being too good and not good enough. All that stuff. I reread that bout nine times trying to analyze myself and better understand the situation so I can help myself. But sometimes I can't help myself and I need other people to tell me how to see some things. Brittany can do that best; she has done it several times before. Heh, most recently she has slapped me in the face trying to convince me otherwise in a sitaution that's been progressing most recently. True, I laughed in her face because I know the whole situation is redonk and she actually slapped me for it. But I still got the message...even through the cackling. I feel like we're in the same situations just at different times, so the advice given back and forth is the best that either can get; it's all relatable. Being away at school sucks sometimes because a) the skank doesn't pick up her phone, and b) I can't actually tell her in person what the crisis is. I'm just a confused human being at times and I need a good Brittany/Fran chat. Yeah, I could go to others for advice (which I probably will) but I am more complete, or I feel better about shit, after I talk to Palma. Sorry to anyone who is offended by this, but it's true, so suck my dick. Suck it a lot.

I had an odd dream last night and it was totally random. Not sure why it happened, but it did and it makes the relevance of some people fuzzy to me. I AM SO CONFUSED. What the hell do I do? I'm (surprisingly) desirable to most guys (despite the whole boutique scenario I gave) but their lack of commitment makes me confused. I've been told *things* lately...like what the fuck do those *things* mean? I've seen *things* lately and what exactly do those *things* mean? I've thought of *things* and what do they mean? And my dreams! What the fuck do they mean? I should stop being so sexy, eh? Maybe I should stop thinking thoughts before I go to bed. Maybe my imagination shouldn't be so fucked up. Maybe I should just run away to Greece and have a love affair with Kristos the mule tamer. Maybe I'll chill in New York and just chill out until shit comes together. Maybe I should shut up because I am going to break my keyboard. I am just so confused.

What sounds good right now? Actual food. I've been munching on goldfish for the past hour because it's too cold outside and I don't feel like taking a ten minute walk to get fruit and a fucking chicken wrap. I'm getting sick of campus food. Besides my attempts at becoming healthier, I've been eating fruit because it's not campus food. It's not greasy and pre-packaged (even though it is) and it's actually good for you. I feel like all of the campus food is really rich in fat and cholesterol, and despite the tastiness it possesses, it just goes straight to my waist and I gain weight and I'm all "eww." Fucking Freshman Fifteen. I told myself that I wouldn't let that happen to me...and low and behold it crept up on me and I just wound up with blah. Shwatevs. I'm working on it. I have new goals.

I have other goals too. Don't feel like sharing though...mind your own bees wax.

I don't know anymore. I just need to write my paper, go to the gym and talk to Brittany.

Peace.

I can't see you every night.

Never leave me without love

I feel like I need to stop looking for relationships because it seems that they fall into your lap when you're not looking. Karen, Eric, Sam and I went into the city today and went to a comedy club (which was tres funny). The second comedian, Marina, mentioned how she's looking for a man (even though she has one) and it's hard to get a man when you're looking because there's this look on your face that guys can read. It's like you're too needy. You are the little lap dog jumping up and down yelping "Pick me, pick me!" It's like, Hey, I'm desperate...just shag me already. I made that mini pact with myself that I wouldn't look for a relationship, but I always seem to and in the wrong places as well. I just miss snuggling and saying "I love you." I want to hold hands and stroke their hair, kiss them after I tease them and just say "I love you" when I feel like saying it. I want someone. I've figured out that I don't just want someone to have them, but I truly desire a significant other. Yeah, I like being single because I have the freedom to go to parties and say, "him" and just make that guy my target for the night. I have the ability, as a swinger, to chill with dudes and flirt 'til no end and make them believe that they're going to get something more out of me than just a witty conversation. I love that feeling. It's the Gemini in me. However, I have that damn Cancer that just wants to love and be loved. I just yearn to snuggle and cuddle and kiss and play and tease and love forever and ever...at least until the flighty Gemini comes into play and I get sick of that dude and just move on.

I'm thinking that if I stop being jealous about other guys (for no reason either) then I'll just seem like the chill dog in the park, not the peppy and annoying ankle biter vying for your attention. I don't consider myself needy, nor an attention whore...I just like it when the person that I'm flirting with focuses their attentions on me...who doesn't? Hey, I'm human with needs just like all ya'll. So fuck you. There are lots of assholes out there, but there are genuinely sweet guys who just want a good girl. And I am a good girl. I was given advice over the past two weeks about how I deserve better because I'm smart, funny and beautiful. Well, hey, as far as I'm concerned, those kinds of chicks should get all the dudes. Am I completely obtuse? I don't think so. Well, oddly enough, I feel like I'm a boutique-- people love how I am on the outside (cute and neat) and the inside is just amazing because there are fabulous items inside (like a kind heart, maybe?), but you never go in to actually purchase something. I attract window shoppers: I'm nice to look at and contemplate about, but not the store that you actually commit to and slam your credit card down on the counter in fervent excitement to get that awesome item from. Ya know what I mean? I'm the girl that is friends with tons of guys, but I'm usually nothing more than just the friend that's the girl...as in the girlfriend. Yeah, Fran is the chick that you sit back and drink beer with and joke about porn sites with (and hold intelligent conversations with), but she really isn't the girl that ya wanna take home to mom because she's almost too good to be true and I wouldn't want to fuck her up. Maybe that's not the actual excuse, but that makes me feel safe...it's not my fault, it's their own. I'm just too good of a person. pffft. I've always been told that I'm smart, funny and beautiful, but I'm just not good enough by being too good?

So yeah, I said that I'd stop looking for a relationship, just have a good time and hook up with people and just enjoy it. Well, on paper (or in a blog) that sounds like a great plan, but in actuality, I am a deeper, more sensitive girl and I'd like to do that mushy stuff and have connections with people, not just do stuff with them and move on. I am not empty nor numb inside, so I don't want to hurt myself in that way. There are people that could make suitable boyfriends, and I'd like that shit to go on, but I doubt it will. Why? Because I'm just the store that you window shop with, not actually shop in. At least I feel that way...especially now. I know I get stares. I see guys check me out. I know when they look at me, they see a pretty face and when they chat with me, they get to know a witty girl with at least half a brain. I'm starting to think that the whole "I'm an independent smart chick who won't just sleep with you to make myself feel more complete" look is sort of unappealing to the typical asshole on the street. Correct? I'm intimidating. I know what I want, and how I want to be treated. I know things like big words, and how to tie my shoes. I don't need anyone to pay for my dinner (unless it's Sam at an unplanned dinner), I don't need anyone to tell me how to think, I can develop my own opinions. I have depth and that scares some guys who just want a chick who will suck their dick with no strings attached. Maybe that's part of the problem? I'm just too good for most guys? hhmm...I could keep telling myself that. Maybe it's true? I mean, I see some people together--ya know, the white trash couples--and gag then feel down on myself because that fat slob with tits down to her knees, has someone to cuddle with at night. Then I remember that neither of those peeps have standards and are white trash. Which I am not. I am classy. I have been told that I am classy and I believe it. Moreover, I refuse to belittle myself in order to impress someone else. I will NEVER sacrifice my intelligence or integrity just to get attention; that's just pathetic. To get a few laughs from friends, I'll play dumb, but my smarty pants-ness is apparent. Yeah, I joke about flaunting cleavage to get free drinks, but I won't purposefully do that unless I'm already wearing the appropriate garb... I won't make a turtle neck low cut for a fucking amaretto sour. Yeah, I'll flash a little eye lust and a smile and I'll laugh at all the retarded jokes, but I will not make less of myself to be accepted or desired.

Why this ranting? Because it seems that some girls, effortlessly, get whomever they want...even if they don't want them. And sometimes that's good (and deserving) but hey, I'm deserving too. So why not throw some of that eye lust my way, eh? And even when you do, I just want it all because it's fun. It's nice to be wanted. We all want to be wanted. Needed. Desired. What are we without those? Incomplete. Basically, I'd like to know, if I'm such a great catch, how come I'm not being fought over? Why aren't there epic sword fights on account of my love? Why aren't their arguments over me? Maybe there are and I'm just deaf and blind...but I've checked up on that, and it's pretty safe to say I'm neither. As previously mentioned, I know I get stares. I see people staring at my chest. I see people stare at my ass. I see the eye lust (I like calling it that) reciprocated with my own. I can make guys laugh with the smile that says "wow, you're amazing." I've been called awesome and amazing and great and gorgeous and kinky and everything under the sun (almost) but...but...I don't even know. I'm so tired. I've been up since 9am, running around the city from 1pm to 1am...and it's now 3am. Maybe I should sleep? I might feel better about myself with some good ol' shut eye. Maybe I should stop being such a pussy and love myself as the single chick with options, not the girl with a broken smile pretending to be in love, and just sticking around with a guy in fear that it'll hurt and that you'll actually have to call yourself single. GASP. I'm not proving something to myself by just having someone. I just want to give someone kisses on their shoulder and neck just because it's fun. I just want to be a mommy to someone and be taken care of in return. I'm a sappy hopeless romantic and I will always be that way. I think love is great and everyone should have it. Love isn't a trophy that you parade around as though you're hot shit for "being in love." It's just one of those emotions that makes everything okay when it's pure. It just satisfies an unquenchable thirst. Love is fantastic. I glow when I'm in love. I know this for a fact. I just want that love glow. It just makes the whole planet sunnier.

Wow. This is a really long rant and I should probably stop now and sleep? Maybe. I hope this didn't sound emo and all "wow, this chick just needs to get laid." Yeah, well, I do. haha. Shwatevs. I admit it...some moments I'm tearing my fucking face off. I'm not ashamed to say that either. But basically, I have learned that I shouldn't want a relationship because that's just when a great one falls into place. I have also learned that maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself and just keep that self-respect because that is more important than how great my blow jobs are (teehee) or how sexy I seem when I have empty things to say. I have learned that I am jealous (like whoa) and I like to mark territory and I'm not happy until I get the attention I want...eek. I have learned that you're more desirable when the guy knows that you don't want something with them (go figure). I have learned that I should just chill the fuck out. I know I'm cranky. Not even sure if this shit is coherent...gawd, I'm tired. There is more that I'd like to add...but tis late darlings. I must be going now...

G'nite.

No one will hear

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Baby, baby, baby

I have come to accept the fact that I will never be perfect. Actually, I dont think there was ever a time where I strived for perfection. Mostly because it doesn't exist. I am, however, extremely critical of myself, and my idea of "great" may seem like perfection to someone else. But I think that it's unattainable and relative; what's the point in killing yourself for something that doesn't exist? I strive to do my best and that's all I can ask out of myself, and anyone for that matter. (As the quintessential artist Jay-Z(you may have heard of him?) once said: I don't demand nothin' of my friends I don't demand of myself. Well, it was more like nuffin' and maself...but even when I write I sound like a white girl, so forgive me). I thought of this tonight when I was in Sam's room alone. In between rummaging through her private things, sabotaging friendships back in Washington, and breaking her computer, I looked down at the worn bottom of my jeans and the holes in my socks. I laughed at it. In the end, holes in socks and torn jeans don't matter but we make them matter. Time to throw out socks with one hole in them and time to buy new jeans when the bottoms are not perfect. I mean, I dont look like a scrub, I just look comfortable and broken in and the fact that my clothes aren't ideal, makes me happy. I feel like I've accomplished something with that one tear; it's a bragging right or at least something to joke about. I dress in clothes that I like, not what is fashionable. Yeah, I guess there are some things that I wear that are considered "in" (probably just my bras) but who cares? My professor from last semester, Naymark, said that over grooming (discussing metrosexuals) shows low self-esteem because there are more important things to worry about than vanity. How true is that? I would not be caught dead shopping in Abercrombie or Hollister (that shit is a joke) nor would I wear it, even if it was handed to me...unless I needed new ninety dollar dusting cloths. Clothes don't make you perfect. Exercise doesn't make you perfect. Vanity doesn't make you perfect. So I've decided to give up on trying to please everyone else's expectations. I've decided to throw out the concept of perfection like a dirty tissue filled with the green shit that I have been hacking up.

Yes, I am still sick. And I have an earache. All I wanted to do was call my mommy and have her tell me what to do to make it better. I wanted her to make me soup, then tell me to grow up and get over it because it's only an earache. But mommies help sometimes, ya know? Ya just need that mother around when you have a cold. Karen and Sam were good mommies to me while I was sore all over. I mean, Karen is my mommy and Sam is my aunt, but they made me eat even when I wasn't hungry and they told me what would make me feel better. Those two are just good people, ya know? They care a lot about the well-being of others and I'm glad I met both of them =).

So yeah. There is snow on the ground. It's absolutely perdy...but it's a pain in the arse. Luckily I dont have to go to class tomorrow, but it's annoying to walk through. I'd like to walk around campus at 3am and hear nothing but the wind blowing in one ear and out the other (since, ya know, I have no brain). Snow is so peaceful and calming. I love stepping on snow that no one else has stepped on. However, I stomp to mark my territory. If I had a penis (easy access), I would be like a dog and pee on it, but a) I dont have a penis (uh duh) and b) it would just melt the snow...or eventually evaporate as Coral and I found out the funny way =) Good times!!!!!!! I could pee in it now, but that involves squatting and bad things could happen like that...real bad things...

I'd like to get drunk soon, but I need to get better first. I personally feel that sipping some of grandma's good ol' cough syrup would do me some good (grandma always liked margaritas and wine...and if she was in the mood, Jack Daniels) and help me forget about all of my troubles.

Oswald and I are doing well. I believe we are getting married next spring. His parents are kind of iffy about us because of the age difference but my dad is proud and my mom is crocheting a wedding gown for me. It might be kinda warm in the spring, but at the rate of global warming, it might keep me warm in a May blizzard.

I heard something and it made me turn red. Oh shucks...

Good night, skanks and hos out in blogger land. Don't forget:

bitches ain't shit but hos and tricks.

<3

Sont les mots qui vont très bien ensemble

I think college will destroy me. It's going to make me someone that I don't want to be. In our Lost Generation class we began talking about Gertrude Stein and ended up discussing how college fucks up artistic creativity and, instead, harbors the conventional by demanding everyone to seek money and suburbia. How true is that? After college I'm not sure I want to settle down with a safe life. I want to be in college; I feel like it's one of the best learning experiences that one can get from life, however I don't want to be tied down with expectations after college. It is assumed that I will continue studies, intern, find a man, get married, establish a career and pop out three children with startling typical features. Just so I can be like every other leech that slowly slithers on this planet. No. Not me. Part of the reason I can't figure out what I want to do with myself is because I'm not sure I want to do any one thing for my life. Do I want to teach my whole life? Do I want to practice medicine my whole life? Do I want to work in an office for the rest of my days? No. Honestly, after I graduate, I'd like to do a real study abroad and live on each continent and work my wayto the next place. I want a love affair with Cyril in Jerusalem, then with Santiago in Barcelona. I want to work on farms in Asia and shop in Indian marketplaces. I will learn the native dances in Kenya, then waltz on over to Greece for some wine and philosophy. I'd like a camera around my neck and just take pictures of a pretty Australian sunset or Croatian children at play. Then when I'm sick of it, I'll find a career that I want to pursue (perhaps even with the degree that I paid for!) What is so wrong with defying such standards of American culture? Absolutely nothing. Or at least it seems so... most people go to college to make money on the other end of it. But what if you want to study something and then just chill out? I know plenty of people who went to college (and are geniuses) and are happy as dog walkers or free lance photographers. College is never a waste of money, even if you come out of it in debt with no career to show for it. College will destroy me and put me behind the white picket fence with every other Tom, Dick and Nancy.

I have listened to The Beatles 'Michele' about six times so far. I can't get sick of it though. It's so simple and pretty and romantic.

I'm still sick but it's not as bad as yesterday. I'm trying to chill with the drugs right now...I've taken like twenty-eight pills over the past three days, so I'd like my body to use it's own defense system now. I might even go to the gym tonight? Only light stuff because I want to keep moving and being active. I feel great working out so much and with Karen, ma gym boo =). No one there is as hot as us. No one.

I'd like to take a nap. Why? Because I'm Fran. It's just what I do.

I'm sick of guys. You have no idea...

Good afternoon. Perhaps we can hit it up later?

<3

When I disappear

Blame it on bad timing. Go ahead, just say the clock was in the wrong place at the wrong time and nothing could be salvaged. I won't be angry. Yeah, I might be offended, but I'll laugh. The hands froze in the heat and sweat in the cold; nothing was right. Nope, nothing. Butterflies sing in the haze of green smoke and fly past the blood-red gum drops that fall so eloquently. Slant and slope straight down like a sledding hill into the black hole that smells like sweet grass. Picket fences with old bubble gum anchored on by persistent, lazy hands. Warm and moist weather makes rain trickle down spines and soaks through fabrics. Fire. Cut. Blame. Collarbone. But not before the balls that children kick around are stolen. We like tears. We like disappointment. Heat. Rain. Wound. Lungs. Pools with clothes equals pools with no fear. Only fun and giggles. Take apart the pocket watch and see springs. Warm, blooming, luscious. Heart. Flowers of red dance inside like they're outward and they're fragile. Sustain life; get pricked on your favorite finger. Blood. Bruises. Fire. Heat. Blame. Stomach. No one likes that. It's embarassing.Fidget for the lightswitch, damnit. Faster. Slower. Softer. Harder. The time isn't right. The farm stands sell sugar-coated apples and blood flavored lollipops. Swallowed. Enjoyed. Spit. Hip. Planes fly overhead with their clear wings and land steadily on hips. Red grips. Red marks. Blue bruises. Green eyes. Knee. Tyrants can't escape now. Nope, the timing was bad, they missed it. Clocks deflated and fell gently. Clocks were drowned in red and green and passed away on the minute. Not at this time. Over again. Do it again. Lips. Eyes. Hands. No, foot. Trickle slowly and dance in mirrors. Kick the ball back to picket fences and children are happy. A little girl with bouncy curls smiles and picket fences break in pieces. Ambitions. Handwriting. Kickball. Lust. Inhibitions. Tyrant. Don't stop. Stop. Don't stop. Just stop. The timing is right now, don't stop. Oh, but you should stop.

Get high like planes

Keep me company, eh? I am desperately lonely waiting for class to start. I got up early to print out my shitty paper that is due today...a little too early and now I am chillin' with no one to talk to. I am listening to Paper Planes by MIA--great song. Agh. What else shall we discuss? Perhaps how I couldn't sleep last night and I tossed and turned 70% of the night. Maybe how it's fucking freezing outside and my body was body slammed by a sumo wrestler or something.

I was sore last night and I needed someome to cuddle with =(. No one but Allie was available, and she might have cuddled with me, but I wanted someone slightly more muscular or fleshy to cuddle with. And rub my body. haha. That sounds wrong, but I was so sore.

I'm gonna go now.

This was a truly POINTLESS blog.

Just go ahead now.

I am officially sick. For the past few days, my body's been teetering between the pools of health and sickness. I woke up early this morning with a sore throat and stiff neck. It's great, isn't it? It was inevitable because about five people I knew were sick and I breathed in their germs. Not to mention that one of them I live with...oy. I just hate being sick. The meds I've been taking are making me feel okay, like I can live with it. I just hope it gets better not worse...especially by Friday; I don't want to start my first day of work sick :(

Karen Noyes is noisy in the gym with all the ellipticals. True story =). I was so proud of her at the gym last night. Why? Because she is an official member of the Hofstra gym sex screamers club. Karen was totally kickin' ass on the elliptical, doing Lord knows what, when she made that noise which is music to my ears. I smiled to myself and my heart gushed with pride...I'm not even sure she even noticed what she did and that makes it all the better. There was no feigning this noise, it was all real.

My tummy is full and I want to nap listening to the sound of the wind howling outside. I'd like to sleep away everything, including the five page paper that I have due tomorrow. It shouldn't be too difficult; it's basically just me chatting one-sided about The Great Gatsby. Wonderful book by the way. If you've never read it, do so immediately. I can't believe I've gone so long without knowing it. It's so wonderfully written and it makes me want to drop out of college with Karen and write books in the Caribbean...I want to read it again just so I can experience that all over again.

What else? Nothing new really. Well, there is always something to talk about. I have the most to discuss and this makes me want to write less for some reason. This wouldn't be random, silly writing, but serious words that show me. I have poems and stories and people that I want to write about, but to truly express that would be bad, I think. I'm too much of a whimp to say some things. People read this and there are some people who may or may not want to read what I have to say...might be a little too honest.

I smell really good right now.

I'm gonna nap before I do this dumb ass paper.

Peace nukkas.

And if you want to call me baby

Just go ahead now

And if you'd like to tell me maybe

Just go ahead now.

And if you want to buy me flowers

Just go ahead now

And if youd' like to talk for hours

Just go ahead now

Let's fly away

Here's a scary thought: we're all changing and growing. Holy shit that sucks, doesn't it? We are diverging from one another and becoming our own person with our own opinions, intelligence, hobbies, talents, humor, etc. Wow. I never come home to the same people even though they seem familiar. They have the same crazy beautiful eyes (except for that ho Andrew...he only has brown), unique hair (some that look more *natural* than others) and they all wear the same clothes that I wish I could pull off as well. But they aren't the same people. I only go home about once a month and everytime I come home it's like I'm meeting a new part of my friends. A piece of them has either flourished or died and I don't know what I'm coming home to sometimes. I'm sure I do the same for them but it's more of how much of an "alcoholic" I am or how "slutty" I am. It's scary how different we're becoming. It's distance. True, I am about an hour away, but that hour means weeks until I see my friends. And there is always something different to come home to. At school I have my own life with friends here. Our own jokes, our own ways of talking to eachother. At home we have our own jokes, and the ways of talking to eachother. But at school, we're all growing and dying, experiencing shit together. I am here and others are back at home doing the same as me, without me. A new part of me is created by the time I come home and sometimes I wonder if it makes things at home worse or better. I know my friends in P-town and Deadford like the fact that I'm different, but will it make us suffer somehow? When will I be less relevant to their lives? When will I get an "oh, it's just you Fran" instead of "AAAAHHHHHH Frantastic!!!!!" like I get now? When will I be replaced by someone else who couldn't be half as witty, charming, beautiful and fantastic as moi? When will I just say "Oh, it's just you guys" instead of "Yayyyyyy, I'm home for three days!" When will everyone there be replaced with people here? When? It's a hard concept to grasp: we are changing and there's nothing we can do about it. Some of us mature a bit, some of us act four, but we're all young and act our age, essentially. Well, I really don't know when all of this is going to happen--it's inevitable--but in the meantime I'm gonna do what I gotta do and be happy with it. The balance is hard to carry sometimes. At home I talk about friends at Hofstra and while at school, I show myspace pictures of everyone from home. It was the weirdest fucking thing to have Karen and Andrew meet; my two seperate worlds came together in one single moment. They joked, chatted, had things in common. They liked eachother. Karen and Andrew merged into one friend, kinda. They are no longer just "Oh, Karen, the girl from home" or "Andrew, that chill homeslice in Medford" (that reference of home and Medford came naturally and I just noticed it...proves change, eh?) but two people who have actually met and interacted. It's crazy.

I don't know if any of that actually made sense. I just thought of it and decided to write about it. It's not even coherent.

I gotta go to the gym soon. Peace sukkas.








these smiling eyes are

just a mirror for the sun

.oh so well.

Ever take the time to look inside of yourself and see nothing but vast wasteland? Yeah, well that's what it's like at this moment. You'd think, considering that I've had a great week so far, that there would be millions of things for me to write about and discuss with my readers. But I got nothin'. Yeah, I could mention the adventure to Carmen in Lincoln Center, or the Spice Girls concert, maybe how great Karen, Sam, Eric and Dave are to hang out with. Maybe the affection I feel for some people or the odd fucking dreams that I've been having lately that involve random mother fuckers that I haven't seen in a long time. Yeah, I could also talk about old friends who have dicked me over, old friends that are always there, new friends that are becoming more affluent in my life. Maybe about my money troubles or the job at the campus museum that I'll HOPEFULLY get soon? Maybe? The time at the gym that Karen and I have is great and there is plenty of heavy breathing and some sex noises coming from me...so why not mention that? I am just in a blah mood at this moment. It just came over me suddenly like grey clouds rolling into blue skies, and I didn't even feel like writing any of this. I actually want to read but Allie is sleeping and I can't go in the common room because Mernelis is arguing with her "boyfriend" about some sort of bull shit. I have no where to go. Yeah, I could go downstairs, but I'm also sleepy and I need to catch up on my rest. People make me angry. People are hypocrites. They are liars and cheats. Everyone is out for themselves. No one notices this or that and the other thing. We see what we want to see and we think how we're told to think. Even those who feel they are against convention are somehow in the midst of it anyway. I try to be optimistic about this world: there is good; love solves everything; bad doesn't prevail. But you really look inside the world by taking a close look at the people who are in it, and nothing will ever change. We are genetically built to hold haste for someone or something because it keeps the flow of nature going. If there is good, evil must follow to keep the balance in check. If there is light, dark isn't too far behind. Our lives are held in a snow globe. Ever glance into one? From the outside, everything is serene and cute and the way the snow falls when it's shaken, is so beautiful. If you take a closer look, something is chipped or discolored and it's never so pretty again. Nothing is perfect. This world isn't perfect. The world, from afar, seems perfect. Up close there is war, hate, greed, poverty, suffering, death, starvation, pollution, destruction. People aren't perfect. I know this and you know this and it is inevitable. We walk this earth alone though we are always with someone. You are your best and only ally. I feel hollowed out on the inside. People make me feel this way. The world, and the fact that it will never be right, makes me this way. There is so much festering inside of me right now, that I have nothing to write about. Not one God damn word that will make a difference. Hemingway spoke of writing one true sentence. There isn't one of those in here. Not one fucking word that will shake you and break you into a million different pieces that will scatter around the atmosphere. Nothing will make you change. You will always feel insecure, insincere, inadequate. Ultimately you will grace this planet alone, with only your feet on the ground and hope in your heart. We are born to suffer and dream with love in our hearts. Nothing is ever good enough, so stop searching for that bull shit that will make everything right with this world. Just listen to some music and pretend that the lyrics will give you the answers to how you feel. I'm pissed because nothing is worth writing for inside of me. I have things to say but no one to say it to. I have expressions and no way to show that. I am angry that I can't profess myself to you without seeming psychotic. I'm a dam and my words are going to break it any fucking second and flood the landscape.

Good night.

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle
que nul ne peut apprivoiser,
et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle,
s'il lui convient de refuser.
Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière,
l'un parle bien, l'autre se tait:
Et c'est l'autre que je préfère,
Il n'a rien dit mais il me plaît.
L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!
L'amour est enfant de Bohème,
il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;
si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:
si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!
L'oiseau que tu croyais surprendre
battit de l'aile et s'envola ...
l'amour est loin, tu peux l'attendre;
tu ne l'attends plus, il est là!
Tout autour de toi, vite, vite,
il vient, s'en va, puis il revient ...
tu crois le tenir, il t'évite,
tu crois l'éviter, il te tient.
L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!
L'amour est enfant de Bohème,
il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;
si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:
si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!

Talkin' shit about a pretty sunset

I'm a genius. It's so painful how amazing I am. Quite literally. Somehow yesterday I managed to pull a muscle or something in my foot, so when I wetnt to the gym, I couldn't do any strenuous workout. This morning, I pulled something in my neck and now it hurts to keep it up (that's what he said). The pain is now spreading to my shoulder. ugh. I just took aspirin for it and I hope that it goes away soon. As most of you know, I always have knots in my back and neck, and my neck was stiff, so I was pulling my head down, hoping to relieve some of the tension. As I did that, I heard a snap and then a shooting pain occured. Oy. Why me? Only when I have shit to do, does my body freak out. =(
Now my problems go from my neck to my uterus all the way down to my left foot. yay.

I'm slipping under

If I am bored and have nothing else to do, I sit and read old blogs that I have written. Yes, I pretty much know what goes on in them, but I like my random titles accompanied with the stories that I write. I try to find a relation. I usually title my blogs before I write and I don't have a particular goal in these dumb fucks, so it's all just random. But I guess it works. My titles come from song lyrics. If I am listening to a song, and a particular line reaches out and smacks me across the face, I make it my title. In 2007 I used to be able to tell you where every title came from. At this point, I forget because there are too many. But shyeah, I read my old blogs and I find myself slightly amusing. It wasn't my full intention to write in the blog daily, sometimes twice a day. It's become an outlet for many things and I'm glad I started it. Yeah, I may be a fool for making a blog, but it's a way to communicate with friends back home, at school, and most importantly I can communicate with myself. Some nights I can't sleep, so I write about the blaring noise coming from my skull until it dulls and I can finally close my eyes in peace.

Last night was a good night. Actually, yesterday in general was pretty sweet (despite the cats and dogs falling from the sky). Karen and I went to the gym around 10am (in the cold rain) and totally kicked ass....like usual. The fire alarm went off while we were breaking a sweat, so our workout was slightly interrupted, but that's okay. Why? Because I really believe that alarm was a sexy meter and we were getting too hot to handle, so they made us peace out for five minutes. True story. We finished at the gym around 12pm (the same time Stop & Shop closes) and met Sam for lunch. Karen makes me want to eat better foods. True, I could also blame it on the fact that I'm working out, but she always eats fruits and vegetable and I think that her insides must be clean and organized, and I want my body to be cleaner too. No, I won't give up meat, but I eat more fruit and veggies. Anywho, we walked through more freezing cold rain to get back to our rooms (poor Sam!) and I immediatly got naked because I was freezing cold. I think my shoes are still damp.... I did laundry, showered, took a nap, found pineapple downstairs!!! and met Sam and Karen for dinner which followed with an evening performance of Moliere's Tartuffe. It was an impressive opera. Sometimes the music ruined it though. The voice of Dorine was fabulous. The beginning was sketchy and unimpressive, but the actors pulled together and it was a great show. In between acts, I pretended to be Karen's rebel carnivorous daughter and it was pretty fab. Karen is gonna be a great mommy =). AFter the show, we all went to Dave's room (of course) and chilled for a long time. I couldn't breathe when Eric was doing the Frank impression. Frank is even cutting down Redwoods now. Fancy that. It was a good time and I got back to my room and drama followed. Allie was drunk and pissed last night, wanting to fight this girl that lives in our house. But she calmed down and in her drunkenness, climbed on my bed , stole my Doritos and actually talked to me about her friends. She then dove into her bed and we talked about college and the economy. It sounds dumb and boring, but we never talk like that when she's sober, so it was nice. We both fell asleep watching Beetlejuice/Betelgeuse and it was sweet in its own way. I won't take it to heart because she was plastered, but it was still sweet. If only they could be alcoholics...

Monday night we're going to the opera and I'm excited. Keri is talking being drunk going. I wouldn't mind having some cheap wine or tequila prior to. If he wears a full suit, I'll wear my dress. Yeah, I'll freeze, but it IS the opera and wearing jeans is not the proper thing to do. Carmen should be fantastic. If it's half as good as the trip to Greenwich village (and John Lennon's house!!!!) it should be great =). I'm also looking forward to not going to class Monday morning...uh duh.

I wonder if there are any plans for Superbowl Sunday....hhhmmm....

Spice Girls are coming soon!!!! (That's what he said)

My day is going to be slightly unproductive. Try and stop me. Or start me...

Poice nukkas.