Gargle with peroxide, a steak for your eye...
But I’m a vegetarian, so it’s a frozen pizza pie.
If you’re not a fan of Regina Spektor, then you have to stop being my friend now.
Seriously, though, I cannot stop listening to Soviet Kitsch. I was just disappointed to find out though, that the sheet music I have for “Your Honor” is for the acoustic version, so it’s mostly just like two chords per measure and ridiculous off-key shouting. Not that I have a problem with that, I just wish I had a “fuller” version.
Oh, hey, I was in New York this weekend, huh. +blink+
So, that was fun. It’s always a good time seeing Rosie, and I think Chris had a good time too, even with all of the driving, and I got some really great stuff, pictures of which I’ve posted on both Facebook and Twitter and I’m almost hallucinating from lack of sleep so I won’t bother to post them here. But in sum, other than all the amazing food we ate, I dropped about two hundred bucks on a new purse, a new hat, some dorky sunglasses, a funny glass from Jeckyll and Hyde, and I can’t even remember what else, not to mention a whole bunch of trips on the metro (and I finally got a fucking metro card, because this is the fourth year in a row now I spent a significant amount of time in NYC, but each year I tell myself, “Oh, I’m not going back, I won’t need a card...) and the train to and from Jersey and oh my god I had so much fun with Christoph and Rose and I can’t wait to go back next month for AIDS walk even though I’m totally broke and holy hell one day I’ll slow down, I promise.
And I STILL HAVE THIS SINUS INFECTION.
Oh, and Chris bought me a dead spider in a glass necklace. He knows me so well!
Oh, and the purse has functioning speakers in it that you hook your iPod up to so now I CAN ANNOY EVERYONE.
Umm...
I mean, other than that, I guess life is good, but I’ve had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach lately, like this strange biting feeling that this isn’t where I wanted to be right now and I don’t know where I’m going and all I do any more is play the piano and write and throw myself into eight hour trips once a week and I’m never gonna get better and am I really happy?
I mean, I guess I am.
I just have a lot of free time to think anymore, and it keeps feeling like I’ve had more than before, but hey, at least I’m writing, you know, and getting back into music, even if I’m doing it in a half-ass backward sort of way.
I’m also really disappointed that I won’t have the money to go back to school for quite some time because if I declare bankruptcy and get my loans removed (I have 88K now) then I’m gonna have shitty credit and I’m never gonna get married because that’ll destroy Chris’ credit and we’re just gonna be one of those stupid couples who are engaged forever because they’re terrified of any real kind of commitment and because I can be a neurotic wreck 60% of the time and ten years from now I’m gonna take the cat and leave.
I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. I just sort of had one of those crystalizing moments and my head hurts and I’m smoking way too much and hardly sleeping and then when I do sleep it takes me a hundred million years to get myself out of bed and I’m really tired of all of this and all I want is a shit minimum wage job and I wish I could have never gone to school and not wasted all that money and just be broke, but debt-free and happy.
Yeah.
So I got a letter from a Twitter friend of mine in New Zealand and it’s stupidly brilliant. Her life sounds so interesting and yet carefree. That’s how I wanna live. I wanna have two interesting kids and an interesting family and a boring husband and a whole lot of time to knit and drive to the beach.
Assorted lyrics, for your visual (and hopefully musical) pleasure.
Soon I’ll go to sleep
If I don’t got my socks on right
They slide right off off my feet
As I walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk
Walk-a, walk, walk-a, walk, walk-a, walk
Carbon monoxide
As I take you home
The first time I get my socks on right
But I don’t have a gas mask on
As I walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a,
walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a
Walk you home
Yeah
I’m so cool, I’m so cool, I’m so cool
Walk-a, walk-a, walk, walk-a, walk-a, walk,
Walk, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a
Walk you home
Yeah
I’m so cool, I’m so cool, I’m so cool
Come on daddy
Carbon monoxide
Soon we’ll go to sleep
No one will notice we’re gone
Cause we don’t have a job to keep
They’ll just say that we’re being lazy
Sex crazy, sex cra-zazy
They’ll just say we’re living our whole life in bed
And we’ll be in bed but we’ll be oh so very much
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, D-dead
Yeah
But we’re so cool, we’re so cool, we’re so cool
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, D-dead
Dead
But we’re still cool, we’re still cool, we’re still cool
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on, come on, come on daddy
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on, come on, come on, come on
They made a statue of us
And it put it on a mountain top
Now tourists come and stare at us
Blow bubbles with their gum
Take photographs
for fun, for fun
They’ll name a city after us
And later say it’s all our fault
Then they’ll give us a talking to
Then they’ll give us a talking to
Because they’ve got years of experience
We’re living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We’re living in a den of thieves
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
We wear our scarves just like a noose
But not ‘cause we want eternal sleep
And though our parts are slightly used
New ones are slave labor you can keep
We’re living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We’re living in a den of thieves
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
They made a statue of us
They made a statue of us
The tourists come and stare at us
The sculptor’s mama sends regards
They made a statue of us
They made a statue of us
Our noses have begun to rust
We’re living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
Were living in a den of thieves
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
The end.
If you’re not a fan of Regina Spektor, then you have to stop being my friend now.
Seriously, though, I cannot stop listening to Soviet Kitsch. I was just disappointed to find out though, that the sheet music I have for “Your Honor” is for the acoustic version, so it’s mostly just like two chords per measure and ridiculous off-key shouting. Not that I have a problem with that, I just wish I had a “fuller” version.
Oh, hey, I was in New York this weekend, huh. +blink+
So, that was fun. It’s always a good time seeing Rosie, and I think Chris had a good time too, even with all of the driving, and I got some really great stuff, pictures of which I’ve posted on both Facebook and Twitter and I’m almost hallucinating from lack of sleep so I won’t bother to post them here. But in sum, other than all the amazing food we ate, I dropped about two hundred bucks on a new purse, a new hat, some dorky sunglasses, a funny glass from Jeckyll and Hyde, and I can’t even remember what else, not to mention a whole bunch of trips on the metro (and I finally got a fucking metro card, because this is the fourth year in a row now I spent a significant amount of time in NYC, but each year I tell myself, “Oh, I’m not going back, I won’t need a card...) and the train to and from Jersey and oh my god I had so much fun with Christoph and Rose and I can’t wait to go back next month for AIDS walk even though I’m totally broke and holy hell one day I’ll slow down, I promise.
And I STILL HAVE THIS SINUS INFECTION.
Oh, and Chris bought me a dead spider in a glass necklace. He knows me so well!
Oh, and the purse has functioning speakers in it that you hook your iPod up to so now I CAN ANNOY EVERYONE.
Umm...
I mean, other than that, I guess life is good, but I’ve had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach lately, like this strange biting feeling that this isn’t where I wanted to be right now and I don’t know where I’m going and all I do any more is play the piano and write and throw myself into eight hour trips once a week and I’m never gonna get better and am I really happy?
I mean, I guess I am.
I just have a lot of free time to think anymore, and it keeps feeling like I’ve had more than before, but hey, at least I’m writing, you know, and getting back into music, even if I’m doing it in a half-ass backward sort of way.
I’m also really disappointed that I won’t have the money to go back to school for quite some time because if I declare bankruptcy and get my loans removed (I have 88K now) then I’m gonna have shitty credit and I’m never gonna get married because that’ll destroy Chris’ credit and we’re just gonna be one of those stupid couples who are engaged forever because they’re terrified of any real kind of commitment and because I can be a neurotic wreck 60% of the time and ten years from now I’m gonna take the cat and leave.
I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. I just sort of had one of those crystalizing moments and my head hurts and I’m smoking way too much and hardly sleeping and then when I do sleep it takes me a hundred million years to get myself out of bed and I’m really tired of all of this and all I want is a shit minimum wage job and I wish I could have never gone to school and not wasted all that money and just be broke, but debt-free and happy.
Yeah.
So I got a letter from a Twitter friend of mine in New Zealand and it’s stupidly brilliant. Her life sounds so interesting and yet carefree. That’s how I wanna live. I wanna have two interesting kids and an interesting family and a boring husband and a whole lot of time to knit and drive to the beach.
Assorted lyrics, for your visual (and hopefully musical) pleasure.
Soon I’ll go to sleep
If I don’t got my socks on right
They slide right off off my feet
As I walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk
Walk-a, walk, walk-a, walk, walk-a, walk
Carbon monoxide
As I take you home
The first time I get my socks on right
But I don’t have a gas mask on
As I walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a,
walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a
Walk you home
Yeah
I’m so cool, I’m so cool, I’m so cool
Walk-a, walk-a, walk, walk-a, walk-a, walk,
Walk, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a, walk-a
Walk you home
Yeah
I’m so cool, I’m so cool, I’m so cool
Come on daddy
Carbon monoxide
Soon we’ll go to sleep
No one will notice we’re gone
Cause we don’t have a job to keep
They’ll just say that we’re being lazy
Sex crazy, sex cra-zazy
They’ll just say we’re living our whole life in bed
And we’ll be in bed but we’ll be oh so very much
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, D-dead
Yeah
But we’re so cool, we’re so cool, we’re so cool
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a, dead-a
Dead-a, D-dead
Dead
But we’re still cool, we’re still cool, we’re still cool
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on, come on, come on daddy
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on daddy, come on daddy
Come on, come on, come on, come on
They made a statue of us
And it put it on a mountain top
Now tourists come and stare at us
Blow bubbles with their gum
Take photographs
for fun, for fun
They’ll name a city after us
And later say it’s all our fault
Then they’ll give us a talking to
Then they’ll give us a talking to
Because they’ve got years of experience
We’re living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We’re living in a den of thieves
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
We wear our scarves just like a noose
But not ‘cause we want eternal sleep
And though our parts are slightly used
New ones are slave labor you can keep
We’re living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We’re living in a den of thieves
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
They made a statue of us
They made a statue of us
The tourists come and stare at us
The sculptor’s mama sends regards
They made a statue of us
They made a statue of us
Our noses have begun to rust
We’re living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
Were living in a den of thieves
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
And it’s contagious
The end.