1) Screaming "SHIT!" as loud as you can doesn't solve anything, but when you're still up at 4 a.m. after you've been drinking, it's a funny image to have of yourself in your head. Don't ask, there's really no story here.

2) People (self included) tend to have an idea that they are the star of life or something. It's something I'm trying to work on and the rest of the world should, too. I should probably write a screenplay, though, because my life would make a fucking good movie.

3) If you start smoking intending it to just be a phase you are fucking retarded. I'll fully admit it began as a cry for help and now I'm just a grumpy old man or something.

4) Watching openly gay men play straight characters is weird when the sexuality of the character is put to question. I am, of course, referring to T.R. Knight's character on Grey's Anatomy.

5) Being a surgeon is really sexy.

6) Don't get all of your life lessons from drunkenly watching the first three episodes of Grey's Anatomy. Those three episodes do not hold the meaning of life, but GOD Katherine Heigl's character is nice.

7) The best songs were written by someone who was very very stoned.

8) Gay men can in fact be mistaken for drug dealers. Some of them probably even are.

9) Updating livejournal is difficult to remember to do sometimes, particularly when you don't have your own computer.

10) People can surprise you every once in a while. It's just been a while since I've gotten a really pleasant surprise.

Okay, this list is useless. Good night!

Proof that gays are eventually going to kill off our species

I shouldn't find this so amusing, but oh boy do I ever find it amusing.

The other night I hung out with my dear friend Paula, smoked a bowl, and wrote a song using the word "fucking" more than any other song in the history of the world up until this point. Groundbreaking, I know.

I don't have the energy to fill out any of those job applications burning a hole in my (er...Cameron's) backpack. I also don't sleep.

I've come up with a chord progression that I love, but it just gets really old after a while of playing it without words. I am not nearly as creative as I'd like to think I am, so words just won't show up. Unless I'm stoned. Even then I might just get distracted by pasta or scrambled eggs or something else delicious.

I hate the hell out of shaving almost as much as I hate being wicked scruffy. I'll probably shave later today and then be ashamed of all the razor bumps I leave on my face because I suck at shaving.

I have a cough and general stuffed up self that only gets worse when I smoke cigarettes. I can't not smoke because I will literally break something valuable, and not very many things in this house are mine. I also don't want to break something of my own, so if it came down to it I would have to break something of Leota's and I don't think she'd take nicotine withdrawal as a valid excuse for such behavior.

I didn't sleep last night and don't intend on trying because at this point I might wake up to discover that I've missed American Idol, which would be awful.

FINALLY! I'm getting my keester out of Iowa and high-tailing it back to the homeland.

I must admit that I'm incredibly nervous that I'm going to be living somewhere that's not college without my family there. At the same time I'm also terrified that I won't find work and that I'll have to come back here and gut it out until the summer. I think I heard somewhere that the economy's underneath a mile of shit right now, so it is a possibility, but who wouldn't want to hire this pretty thing? Huhr huhr huhr...

For risk of sounding spoiled, I'm giving up a lot by moving. My parents aren't going to be giving me very much money while I'm out looking for work, so I'm not going to have the lifestyle that I associate with Oak Park by any stretch of the imagination. I'm not going to be able to just do whatever I want until I get the job and begin saving for myself. I'm also terrified that this will blow up in my face and I'll end up having another emotional breakdown and end up back in the hospital or something.

Despite the horror that's inspired here, I am excited and anxious to get going. So, for now, I'm off. I'll let you know how it's going when I actually know how it's going.

Love!

Last time I went to Oak Park, the train conductor instructed me to put my luggage on an overhead rail if I didn't want to pay for an extra ticket to have it sit on the seat across from me. Despite never having had to do this before, I obliged. When I got to Leota's house, I discovered that both the book I had been reading and my personal journal had been taken. I don't mind so much the book, but who in the world reaches over the rail, opens up someone else's suitcase and takes a journal unless they just wanted to hurt an anonymous person? What motivates someone to do that? It has no value to anyone except for me, but of all my belongings to have taken from me, this one hurts the most and is the most irreplacable.

This particular journal held a lot of song lyrics, drawings, my account of my stay in the mental hospital, and a lot of other personal information that I am just uncomfortable being in someone else's hands. I've had a really rough life for the past eight months, and this journal holds the things in that time that I have kept secret and never intended to share with anyone, and usually I am extremely open about my thoughts and will confide in my friends, even new acquaintances who are interested in hearing my story. The fact that I don't know where it is, who has it, or if I'll ever get it back again drives me crazy.

Hopefully I just forgot that I took it out to write some things down at Leota's and will find it when I get to her house this weekend, but I already asked her if she's seen it and no such luck.

I just don't get it.

In less than two weeks, I am moving in with my dear friend Leota while I look for a job and an actual apartment. The next two weeks are gonna blow my ass, but at least there's finally a sort of light at the end of the tunnel.

I've been meaning to really get ahold of my fitness for a while now. Not that I'm even remotely overweight (quite the contrary, about 15-20 pounds under), but it would be nice to be really really happy with the way I look without a shirt.

Speaking of shirts, there are two that I absolutely NEED. One actually exists. It says, "I'M SHY" in huge letters, and then in a tiny font underneath says, "but I've got a big dick." IT IS CRUCIAL THAT I OWN THIS SHIRT BEFORE THE YEAR IS OUT! New Years resolution, a month and a half late! The other shirt I dreamt up...literally. When I was in the hospital two months ago they put me on meds that led me to have incredibly weird dreams. In this particular dream my family was spending the day with the Beckhams (Posh, Davey and their faceless children), and Posh gave me a ghetto ass turquoise T-shirt that had "POSH BOY" printed on it in black letters. Another crucial piece of merchandise which will be attained from Jive Monkey as soon as I get my pennies saved up enough to be able to afford it.

Next in line for tatts:
+"soldier on" in cursive on my right wrist.
+scorpio sign on the back of my neck (Allison's is gonna be in ink that's only visible in blacklight...mine's probably gonna be black)
+considering adding a diamond and club to my spade and heart design already in place on my left arm.

P.S. I'm stoked a bunch of us are starting to get really into tattoos.

I am sick of being all morose. If Nick doesn't want to get back together then I need to find someone else, because lord knows moping and feeling sorry for myself isn't doing me any good at all.

I need to move to Chicago like right now.

"All the sights of Paris,
pale inside your iris,
tip the Eiffel Tower with one glance,
stained glass cathedrals, with one glint,
you smashed it with your eyes
what I'm looking for.
One blink and then my heart
wasn't there no more." - Rufus Wainwright, "The Tower of Learning"

"So it's Friday night down on North Avenue,
where the gas station parking lot prostitutes
tried to fix their hair in our rearview mirrors.
You know we're just trying to get to the club and shake our asses.
A caravan of kids, some big old mess,
on an old wooden dock, oh we're bored to death.
We've got a bottle of wine, a fresh pack of smokes.
We're going to end up screaming about some midnight garage sale." - Tilly and the Wall, "Nights of the Living Dead"

"There's a war inside of me
Do I cause new heartbreak to write a new broken song?
Do I push it down or let it run me right into the ground?
I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me
Well I can't stop talking for fear of listening to unwelcome sound
And you haven't called me in weeks and honestly it's bringing me down
I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me
I feel like you wouldn't like me if you met me." Tegan and Sara, "I Wouldn't Like Me"

It seems like every song I listen to quickly becomes my theme song. I relate to virtually every lyric I hear, and lord knows I only ever hear sad songs. This can't be good news.

I keep waking up at about the time my brother gets home from school. This doesn't please my parents at all. Apparently I'm going to have to be able to wake up in order to do things when I'm living on my own. And yeah, I get that, but I also have nothing to wake me up here. I hardly even exist here.

I've only had two cigarettes today. I'm trying to cut back and hope to have quit by the end of April, but truth be told the idea of a world without my squares kind of freaks me out. Especially because I don't have a boyfriend to whine about it to. Plus I'm so god damn cynical I basically have to smoke I might have to roll my eyes so many times that they get stuck in the back of my head. Smoking helps treat that...or something.

Something smells kind of awful and kind of spectacular in my house right now. If it's food, it smells terrific. If it's not, then get me the hell out of here. I think it's food.

Okay, literally none of this entry makes an ounce of sense.

I always like to pretend that I'm no longer a total brat when I come back from long hiatuses. Like I've grown sooo much since my last entry or something. I will look back on this in like a year and scoff. I have no intention of trying to recap everything that's gone down since I last updated this, so anyone who's interested in reading about me is just going to have to deal with the fact that the past two years don't exist as far as lj is concerned.

I'm moving back to Chicago (from Iowa) soon to become a rock star. You better believe it. I'm going through that whole "what is my purpose in life?" thing right now and I think that that is what I need to be doing at this point in time. I don't know where I'm going to live, how I'm going to make money (prostitution, most likely), or if I'll like the thirty billion tattoos that I will undoubtedly get within the next year ten or twenty years down the road, but I've decided that I really don't have the patience to keep living so slow. I need to start really existing or I am never going to find real happiness. I am so psyched about the prospect of living on my own. Hopefully I'll get a job at some hip little Chicago diner/coffee house (think something along the lines of Pick Me Up) and be able to get a band going so I can start playing shows. I remember dreaming of being a singer in a band when I was a wee lad, and damnit I have fucked my ten year-old self over way too many times, so I at least owe him that.

Things are starting to look up for me despite some obvious setbacks that I will not delve into right now. All in good time.

It's been over a month since my last post. Not a whole hell of a lot's been up. Nothing too interesting, anyway.

The last few weeks of school always kill. My American Lit teacher decided to make our junior themes due on the last day of school, which was not terribly thoughtful, even if it was so we didn't have to worry about them before APs. I'm happy enough with my topic (Allen Ginsberg), but I'm so lazy and don't really have any motivation to do jack shit for the next week.

I'm really anxious about summer. The five weeks I'll be out of town are some of the most interesting weeks at home, though--mostly because of all the Harry Potter stuff going on. I'm going to be at Cherubs (theatre program at Northwestern), though, so I'm reluctant to complain. If we ever have free time, we're sure to all be going to see the new movie and reading the seventh book together or something. Actually, nevermind, that would be a waste of Cherubs. We'll probably be too busy bonding and theatre-ing to read or whatever.

Just so anyone who reads this knows I'm still alive...

I'll update when I have something interesting to say.

I can't say that I really enjoy easter all that much. I've never been religious, and even if I were I'm a little lost as to how it got to be celebrated the way it is today. Whose idea was it to have a gigantic fictional rabbit hopping around passing out eggs? Rhetorical question of the day.

The English Exchange kids are home. I'm sort of afraid of tomorrow--things have pretty much been shit since the last entry.

I came home during lunch today to try to get some sleep, because I didn't last night. Upon my arrival, I plopped down in front of the computer and have since remained just there.

Last night I got really upset with Jack and sort of took it out on the whole group rehearsal. It was crummy of me, but sometimes one can't help but be a total dick when they've been given reason to be pissed.

Basically, after telling me that he doesn't actually return my feelings, he immediately proceeded to ranting about his own romance issues. This has got to be the most awkward thing anyone has ever done in the history of planet earth. Here I am, bumming about him not liking me, and somehow he thinks it's okay to ask me for advice on what he should do about his own feelings for someone else. Tact, Jack, tact!

My back has continued to feel lousy. I went to the chiropractor's office last week and failed to follow up on my appointment, so, of course, my back has gone out again. I think I have an appointment a little before 6:00, but I could be wrong. Boring, eh?

I talked to Jack.

I keep failing at talking to Jack. This is all I ever talk about to anybody anymore. I'm getting so damn pathetic. I disgust myself. So for the rest of this entry I will not mention Jack at all. Actually, yes I will.

Yesterday in American Lit we were talking about eating disorders for about five minutes. Longest five minutes of my life, or at least the longest five minutes of yesterday. My teacher got into the conversation too, which was awkward. She talked about how she had students with obvious eating disorders in the 80s, but now she doesn't know of any.

I am awful at writing in this thing.

I went to Inos today with Becca and (ehem) Jack. We ate, we talked, we conquered. Jack and Becca tried those nasty sauces that we assume never get changed. I'm hoping they haven't gotten food poisoning. Inos is kinda sketch.

At some point I should really do all my cherubs application stuff. It's kinda due in two weeks and it won't get done unless I do it this weekend. Shit.

Ragtime went beautifully, fyi.

I really should call Jack at some point, but my nerves refuse to let me. I've learned to talk to people via aim and have sacrifices my ability to voice anything remotely important for fear of hearing something I don't want to. It's one thing to type/read things, saying/listening is another thing entirely.

Since his computer is a hunk of junk, he can't use aim anymore. So I've been relying on facebook to tell him things. I'm so fucking gutless it makes me ill.

All right. I'm gonna call him.

lilemcee02 (5:49:49 PM): you're so profane
GrahamSoda (5:53:07 PM): yeah, a little
GrahamSoda (5:53:11 PM): it's the terrets
lilemcee02 (5:53:43 PM): I wouldn't doubt it actually
GrahamSoda (5:54:13 PM): cockshitfuckchugger


well, I think it's funny.

There's not much to update with. I need to memorize my lines and songs for Ragtime at some point. That show's not going as spectacularly as I would have hoped. At least not when the full cast is there. People don't know how to listen at all. Shitcakes.

I'm bored crazy, so I'm actually going to take quizzes and post results.

( quizzes )

"I don't know, something about you just rubs me the wrong way. It might just be the fact you want to fuck guys who look way too much like you. You're a nice enough kid, though." - gyufu_no_saijo

Well, I thought it was funny.

I have no idea why, but someone out in spam land seems to have the notion that I might have a particular interest in "Hot Sexy Black Singles."

a) I'm 17.
b) I'm very VERY white.
c) Dating sites scare the crap out of me.
d) As if we really need a d here.

The internet can be very creepy about these things. Speaking of creepy...my parents have been very interested in how much our house is worth lately since we're moving in a year and a half. So we went to this site and all we had to do was type in our address; their database knew that our house has 1.5 bathrooms, 4 bedrooms, the amount of people currently living in it, that we have a dog, and the overall market value. This, understandably, petrifies me.

I have Ragtime rehearsal in a little while. As much as I am looking forward to the end product of this show, I absolutely dread the tediousness that is the rehearsal process thus far. I hope to god we get the chance to work on some non-entire ensemble numbers today so I can actually have something to do. I have this huge part, but all we've really touched in rehearsals is the Prologue, in which I move about two inches. Really, I shouldn't complain, because in that number I've got it about as good as everyone else, and then a lot of the rest of the show features the crap out of me.

I should probably eat some breakfast.