Suit Yourself.

"A week after putting her to sleep, I received Neil's ashes in a forest green can. She'd never expressed any great interest in the ourdoors, so I scattered her remains on the carpet and then vacuumed her back up. The cat's death struck me as the end of an era. It was, of course, the end of her era, but with the death of a pet there's always that urge to string black crepe over an entire ten- or twenty-year period. The end of my safe college life, the last of my thirty-inch waist, my faltering relationship with my first real boyfriend: I cried for it all and wondered why so few songs were written about cats. "

-Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

I stood lingering in the aisle tapping my foot, eyes shifting back and forth trying to select from my options. I spotted the perfect choice: Hedwig and the Angry Inch. A rock-musical about a transexual from East Berlin who tells her life story through music while stalking her ex-boyfriend who stole her songs and rose to fame. I have unusual taste, I'll admit. A large man appeared at my side. He wore dirty denim shorts, a black sleeveless shirt and smelled of motor oil. "They got a whole fuckin' row for faggots", he said noticing the aptly titled "cultural favorites" aisle. I stood there shuddering in embarrassment, trying to conceal my movie of choice under my armpit. I walked away slowly, replaying the event in my head. People are fucking assholes.

Luckily, that wasn't the highlight of my week. It was actually seeing John Mayer in concert for the second time. For free. Kevin invited me after receiving the tickets through work. What a treat it is to see such an insanely talented musician. Even if you're not a fan of John, it's impossible to deny that he's a god when it comes to guitar. See him live the next time he's in your city. Of course, it's an understood rule that if a venue allows cameras, I will forget mine...which was the case on Friday. So no photos from the concert. Sorry.


The rest of my weekend I spent sprawled out on my unmade bed reading SELLEVISION by Augusten Burroughs and laughing out loud, humming songs from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and trying to convince myself that I was pregnant in order to legitimize my cravings for gorditas from Taco Bell. Next weekend I make the trip back to San Antonio to celebrate my 21st birthday. This is exciting, but I don't look forward to the celebration more than I look forward to keeping my kitchen stocked with bottles of red wine in the future. My guiltiest pleasure.

Enjoy these two pictures I got from the weekend. Whoopee!

From my apartment balcony.


Riley looks inquisitive. We refer to those lines in his fur as his necklace. "What a pretty necklace you have on today, Riley!"


Laters for now.

Painkill--

Justin Cobb: How was work?
Audrey Cobb: It was really good, actually. Really good.
Justin Cobb: Doesn't it get depressing? Seeing all those people who have everything just throw it all away?
Audrey Cobb: No it's humbling. Last night this guy said to me, 'We're all addicted to something. Maybe an idea of ourselves. Our lives. Or some idea of success...or failure. I was born addicted to fantasy.'

-Thumbsucker (2005)

I've always had this perpetual fear in the back of my mind that I'm not doing what I'm meant to be doing in regards to my future. I'm not one to believe that things are meant to be and I'm absolutely not a person that believes in fate. But I do believe in consequences.

I made the decision to study filmmaking to satisfy my desire to be, in a sense, a control freak. I found out early in my life that through art, I am fulfilled. But I have fears that I only chose filmmaking because it was tangible. And that had I chosen to pursue any other art, the people in my life would have just brushed me off and rolled their eyes. I now think it's just my own pathetic lack of confidence. In my own head I'm a brilliant artist with a promising and beaming future. But in reality, I feel tied down by provincial formalities.

I have these embarassing passions to express myself in some other form. And these embarassing passions are continually challening my perception of how I think my future will turn out. They make me second guess what I really want. I need more time to think!

College is so terribly fucking fleeting.

*sigh*

During my mini summer vacation, I went to see 28 Weeks Later with my sister, Kimberly. When I first saw the previews for the film, I immediately shunned it. Being an enormous fan of 28 Days Later, I assumed that since the original director was not doing the sequel, it would be complete rubbish. Wrong! This movie is a total thrill from beginning to end. It's exciting, visceral, terrying and truly beautiful. I call it a zombie art flick. The first ten minutes might be one of the most horrifying openings in a movie. Brilliant filmmaking.


Hey, somebody is at the window. I think she wants in.


Survivors.


The delicious Rose Byrne. A great actress. See her in The Dead Girl. You'll shit.


"DON!"


Run, bitch!


Chilling with the group in Robin's hot tub.


We hate each other.


Mary, taking full advantage of being 21, rolled off her bed in a drunken stupor. Photo opp!


Getting caught with my pants down. I consider mooning people a hobby.


Happy 21st to Brittany!



Our friend Sarah is getting married soon, and Kim and my mom threw her a bridal shower at our house. I've never seen so many older white women dressed in pink in my life. I expected Nancy Reagan to walk in the door at any moment. I told my mother that the guests should have a krump dance competition in the living room, but she declined my suggestion.


A surprise pool party for Brittany.


Laters for now.

Concealer

Everyday we're told we live in the greatest country on earth and it's always stated as an un deniable fact: Leos are born between July 23 and August 22, fitted queen-size sheets measure 60x80 inches, and America is the greatest country on earth. Having grown up with this in our ears, it's startling to realize that other countries have nationalistic slogans too, none of which are 'We're number two!'

- Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

Oh, what monotonous and peculiar days I spend alone in my apartment during the summer. I've been forced away from my friends and family back to the place I loathe so fiercely only to get three more hours of credit added onto my college transcript. It's a sacrifice I'm hesitant to make. Last year I hardly got a summer vacation because of the ridiculous courses I enrolled in. (I ended up getting a B in a health emergencies class that consisted of blowing air into plastic mannequins. The course blew harder than me, I suppose)

With no job and only one course to attend, the rest of the day I spend sitting around and wondering what I'm going to do with the rest of the day. This usually means that I spend twelve hours reading gossip blogs, reading about movies, or wrapped up in my sleeping bag like a burrito and watching Charm School on VH1. And then inevitably forgetting to read whatever chapter was assigned to us in class. However today, while loading the dishwasher, I broke my roomate's plate and ended up having to go to Wal-Mart to replace it: "A merry flag in the Arctic wilderness that is my calendar." I'm starting to think I subconciously smashed it on purpose in order to have a reason to escape my apartment. Don't tell me your summer sucks.

Being at home for three weeks was undoubtedly a satisfying break from the banal routine of college life in Denton. I spent my days in San Antonio hidden in my room from the incessent nagging of my mother and reading some good books. My nights consisted of trying to break the record for 'most times eating at Chili's', cursing and talking about nothing at Mary's house, and developing an unhealthy addiction to Guitar Hero. I recently spotted Guitar Hero hooked up to play at Wal-Mart and stood for a solid ten minutes gazing maniacally at the television, not caring that I was taking the turn of an impatient girl waiting behind me. I think I need an intervention. I may need to join Lindsay Lohan in rehab to break my addiction.


My camera might explode with the number of photos I have stored on it. Here they are:

Before I left for San Antonio I had to make an overnight stop in College Station for Kimberly's Texas A&M Graduation. Fun. This is my Papa at dinner. He's not embarassing at all.


Cheese Fries.


I hate when restaurants make you do something humiliating when it's your birthday. Just fucking sing and leave. Nobody else in the restaurant gives a shit that you turned 23.


Want to know what sucks? Waking up early only to spend 3 1/2 hours of your life squeezed in between people you don't know while a guy reads off impossible-to-pronounce names. Laura feels my pain.


My mom and her mom studying the program intensely.


There were a lot of grandparents.


I love my mom in this picture. We were having "A&M" cake.


We ate at El Jarro's on Bitters/281 for a Mother's Day brunch buffet. My Papa resembles an ape.


Yipee.


Mary redecorated her bedroom. One of her nine cats peed on that seat she's sitting on not long after this picture was taken. I know this because I sat in it.


Swimming with Mary, Brittany and Danté.


Met the Keipster for lunch to give her a birthday gift and show off my NYC pictures.


Note to self: never let Kimberly cut the hair on your neck. She will shave the back of your head instead. Thank Jesus for baseball caps.


Mary turned 21 and we threw her a surprise birthday party!


Anal rape. My cup says "Fucker" because we all wrote our names on them.


Brittany getting caught off-guard and unintentionally posing like Mary Kate Olsen.


Jello Shots


Dance party...well, Mary and I were the only dancers. But that's okay.


This is what you should look like at the end of your 21st birthday party. And yes, that is a snot string hanging from her nose.


No, Mary is not sunburnt. She passed out at her birthday party and people wrote on her face with red sharpie. An arrow pointing to her mouth read, "Insert Cock Here".


Mary buys her first drink at a restaurant....you guessed it...Chili's.


Happy Birthday!


Lame.


Another lunch at Chili's. Jesus Christ.


Eating some late-night TC's after seeing 28 Weeks Later. (which is a fantastic movie...more on that in a later post)


I think if Brittany becomes an actress, she should use this as her head-shot for auditions.


Laters for now!