I need you like water in my lungs.

Sometimes I feel like this:




Tomorrow is September 1st. I don't know what i'll do if I don't hear from Pratt this week. It's so close I can taste it. I can visualize my Brooklyn apartment and my tree wallpaper and cranberry and lemon color scheme. I can visualize my Queen size bed and you snuggling in it. Gahhhhh.
Okay, tomorrow I stop reading old diary entries because I'm seriously driving myself crazy.

It needs to be fall.
Or at least Sam Adams needs to come out with their Octoberfest already. And Brooklyn Brewery their pumpkin beer.

Let me preface this by saying I just re-read the entirety of my livejournal (2002-2006) and am a firm believer that my depressed and mostly drunk ramblings tell a more captivating story than any of the 23 short stories that make up "Haunted" by Chuck Palahniuk. This is a book review, skip it if you want to, I could really care less. I miss school and being forced to analyze everything I digest, so deal with it, bitches.

As previously mentioned, I was really resistant to reading this guy, and now I know exactly why. The premise sounded so promising! I had such high hopes of being terrified and repulsed as 17 aspiring writers trapped in an abandoned theater became more desperate in their attempts to get out; what actually happened was much in the same vein of the novel itself. I WANTED to enjoy it, but instead I just ended up wanting to cut off my fingers and toes hoping it would make things more interesting. Palahniuk (aside from having one of the most annoying last names possible) is a really bad writer. Like head scratchingly bad. I suppose I could get used to his "staccato" style which everyone seems to praise (because they can't follow sentences with more than 10 words in them?) if it were a cohesive novel with one voice and one plot line. But this was a book with (let me repeat myself) TWENTY THREE short stories supposedly written by SEVENTEEN separate voices. I don't think Palahniuk realized this, and therefore wrote all seventeen stories with the same voice and the same style. Really? I mean at least TRY to make the seventy year old lady, the thirteen year old kid, and the forty year old man sound like seperate people. Or, if you can't do that, DON'T WRITE A BOOK WITH TWENTY THREE SHORT STORIES THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY SEVENTEEN DIFFERENT PEOPLE. I'm all the more annoyed at this, because in the book I'm reading now, (Snow, Orhan Pamuk) the author will occasionally have things written from different perspectives and he does it so effortlessly. The young nervous radical sounds like a young nervous radical, and the tired university president sounds like a tired university president, and the resigned poet- well you get the idea.

Next gripe. This book was touted in the title, on the back cover, in the review snippets, and even by the author himself as a ghost/horror story. Palahniuk even goes so far as to have the audacity to include an epilogue and "warning" (i kid you not, he included a warning) boasting how many people fainted when he was reading one of these cookie cutter short stories. Again, REALLY? How self obsessed do you have to be to include an epilogue where you're bragging about how good a writer you are, and how good you are at taking mundane objects and making them "horrifying". Godddd I wish I didn't spend fifteen bucks on that.

Alright, now that i'm done chiding that windbag for being so self-obsessed, lets get back to me. Re-reading my old livejournals made me realize that I should be a lot more specific in my blog. No one reads this, and the few who do, i'd probably tell you any of these stories anyway. So I'm going to start writing this knowing that in five years from now, i'm going to want to remember what's been going on.

So fear not, good readers! Tomorrow I'll get back to talking about boys and unemployment.

Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty, and meet me tonight in Atlantic City

Atlantic City is a strange place. I wish I could take pictures of the casinos because they just blow my mind. What a random random mix of people. I've never seen so much Denim and Co. by QVC in one place at one time. Nor have I ever seen so many serious looking guys who were under the impression their shit does not stink. And everything blinking and beeping and flashing constantly! Even though Harrah's seemed to be one of the most tasteful of the lot, I still would surely have a nervous breakdown if I spent more than 2 nights there. Too much neon, too many patterns, and all the noise, noise, noise, noise. So here are some pictures of our killer view. 30th floor waterside. BAM.





One thing that amazes me in casinos is how easy they make everything for you. Credit cards, cabs, and drinks are everywhere. If i bought a pack of gum, I could use my credit card and they'd smile and whisk it through instantly. If I wanted to bring my gin and tonic with me to the pool, bathroom, room, store, or all you can eat buffet, no one would bat an eyelash. Really really crazy these casinos. I'm quite glad I got to experience my first (and presumably last) Jersey Club. Here's Murmur(?) at the Borgota (in the best possible light):

laugh until we think we'll die. Barefoot on a summer night. Never could be sweeter than with you

In junior high and high school I would read non-stop. I would go to the library weekly and devoured all the classics. Even in college, when my time was spent reading endless amounts of scholarly writing, I still occasionally found the time to read for pleasure. Once I graduated, I stopped reading. At the time I didn't really think anything of it. I made excuses of not knowing what to read, not having money to buy books, not knowing where my library card was (or even if it was still valid) etc.
It's really crazy how complacent you can get with life and how easy it is to stop learning and just check out. It's also crazy how easy it is not to realize when that's happening. I know I talk about this all the time, but my 22nd year was pretty much spent in a complete fog. And this is just another instance of how grateful I am to have snapped out of it and started to fucking live again.


This summer I've been reading tons, and am currently in the middle of "Haunted" by Chuck Palahniuk. You can't tell here, but the cover glows in the dark!
Definitely never got into him, because he's always struck me as one of those authors (like Dan Brown) that people who don't read, read. And since I'm an elitist book snob, I didn't want to lower my standards and join the ranks of the people who live for "Fight Club" and "Choke". That being said, "Haunted" was recommended to me, and being 150 pages in, I can definitely say that I love it. Creepy creepy concept and really uniquely organized. Go read it, babies!

I'm also a glutton for punishment and just started "The Romantics" because i need a fluffy easy read about unrequited love and an incestuous group of friends reuniting for a wedding, that I can translate into my own incestuous and unrequited life and then mope about. They're also turning it into a hipster looking movie starring Katie Holmes, Elijah Wood, and Anna Paquin. And you know what, I don't care what anyone says, I love Katie Holmes. No matter how ragged she may look or what terrible movies she may star in, she will always be Joey Potter to me and therefore can do no wrong.

This is what the world is for, making electricity.

Right now i'm drinking a wonderful gin and tonic enhanced with lime and cucumber. I'm about to make Adam and I fish and chocolate cake and drink more gin. See Jordan, I can make non awkward diary-esque posts!

In other news, this cover is awesome. It grows on you. It's also 100% accurate.

This used to be a fun house, but now it's full of evil clowns.

County Fairs are very strange.

This weekend I had the pleasure (or misfortune?) of accompanying my eight year old cousin to our county fair upstate. For those who don't know, my house is in New Paltz, New York. New Paltz has a pretty liberal and laid back state university, is about 30 minutes from Woodstock, and has a bunch of stores with names like "The Groovy Blueberry" or "Endless Horizons." Basically everyone up there is either a unwashed college student or looks like this:




The Ulster County Fairgrounds are usually reserved for snobby events such as the Crafts Fair or Taste of New Paltz, but in the one glorious week a year, it serves the purpose for which is was named and houses the county fair. You would expect a sleepy liberal minded county in upstate New York to not get too excited about fried twinkies or pig races or a booth where, for $20, you can take a picture with a baby tiger (I shit you not). But the place is packed every single day with people who look like this:


Where the hell do you come from?? As a former lover of the Delaware State Fair, and someone whose been to Pigeon Forge, TN, I've seen your kind. I would expect pregnant teenagers and families with less than 20 teeth between them all down there, but really? Upstate, NY?? Do you people standing in line to get you and your baby daddy's names airbrushed on a Confederate flag tee shirt even realize how far north of the Mason Dixon line we actually are??? I certainly haven't seen your likes at "The Groovy Blueberry". Do you crawl out of the hills once a year to play whack-a-mole with the change you've scavenged returning cans?

Also, I think i've gotten too old to appreciate carnival rides. I have a massive bruise on the side of my hip from ride after ride of centripetal force pressing me into the side of some cheap glittery car/boat/dragon/apple/spaceship. Also, I needed to vomit after like the third ride, and that feeling never went away. Ugh.

my head told my heart let love grow, but my heart told my head this time no.

Ok.
It's August.
Summer of Stephie rolls on, with relative success. There's been some ups and downs, but mostly ups. But I think it's time to switch focus.
So, I declare August to be self-improvement month.
I'd be lying if I said I was going to stop thinking and obsessing over boys, but I'm going to consciously try to not make them the primary focus. I'm going to follow the advice of the graffiti on the sidewalk near my apartment and "fuck love, get $$$"
THEN lose 10 more pounds
THEN get the fuck out of my apartment,
THEN find a boyfriend

Ready.... Go!

Also,
I've figured out my halloween costume. I'm going to be:

No, not Margot Tenenbaum, I'm going full on tennis chic Richie complete with beard.
I've always toyed with the idea of being Margot, but felt no desire to look depressed and wear a fur coat, so I got to thinking about what I could be where I'd have an excuse to wear tube socks, aviators, and a sweat band, and lo and behold, RICHIE!
It's going to be so amazingly amazing. I reaaaallllllyyyy wish i'll have a fabulous apartment by then, and can therefore have a fabulous halloween party.
So, that's what my sights are now set upon.

Ready....go!

Also,
Listen to this band: