| [ |
mood |
| |
 drained |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Jessica Simpson "I Think I'm In Love With You" (LOVE it!) |
] |
Gitt your lawnchairs on yer porch if you love your country! It's the Fourth of July here in scandalous Lemont, and that means all your favorite neighbors you've never talked to in your life announce their presence with cheap-ass fireworks, sparklers, and screeching children destined to blow off their fingers. I was just playing frisbee and chatting out in the street with Corey, and I honestly couldn't hear him because somebody (meaning everyone in my subdivision) kept shooting off screamers. It was a fucking blue-collar ice storm out there. No one was safe.
But God, I'm delighted (and fucking surprised!) to be back at DJ Headquarters. After I hadn't updated for a couple weeks, I decided to declare a deadjournal sabbatical. Highly ceremonious, I know. I'm at the point where I don't want to say for sure that I'm either going to keep updating or not updating -- my feelings about writing here seem to change by the day. Here's what I'm up against: 1) There's really not a hell of a lot going on, and God knows you don't want to hear me bark about Chipain's and those cute jeans I bought. And girl, you know I could go on about these slammin' H&M Braggs for like, evz. 2) After 4 1/2 (!) years of DJ, it's difficult to write in here without it feeling like a retread. Like I've outgrown this forum. When I look back on old entries (which you know is all too often), I'm stunned at, first of all, the length of my entries -- and my unmatched ability to write two and a half pages about Phil pissing me off, and secondly, the amount of times I forced myself to write when I didn't really want to. I never again want to subject myself to writing on behalf of self-expectation and not on the behalf of doing myself any good. On the long list of purposes this journal affords me, writing that is less than therapeutic or ingenuine seems totally off base. So here's to more entries with Madonna dissertations!
Tomorrow I'm booking it with Gloria and Greg to the fabled, mythological St. Louis. Truth be told, I'm not exactly looking forward to it. I do want to cream Grandma and Grandpa in Scrabble, but other than that, I'm anticipating a lot of TV watching and too much time to think. Glo and Greg have their zoo ritual, so during that time I'm bound to Grandma's house where the Cheez-Its and fun are generally expired. Don't get me wrong -- I love my grandparents. But I don't even have internet access at their house (unless I dare to use their dial-up modem... and I'm not just not a bold person). So if intuition serves me, I'll end up in the Galleria wandering around the St. Louis Urban Outfitters by myself. I guess any break from Lemont and Chipain's is welcomed. Even if I have to sleep on a cot in my grandparents' house in order to achieve that break. Hip-hop-hooray for chronic back pain.
This entry's subject refers to a question one of my fellow couldn't-be-more-mature cashiers asked me. During a lull in work, she wanted to know what the hell a 19-year-old was doing making 6.75 an hour at La Dolce Shitstains. I didn't have much of an answer, but I worked my suave conversationalism, and there I was spouting something believable. I just don't know. I'm not as depressed by Chipain's as I was at the start of the summer, but that might be because I have fun some of the time. Early in June I went to Six Flags (for the first time in about THREE. YEARS.) with Chipain's employees Ann, Nina, Kaitlyn, and Amber. They're all in high school, so I was the creepy stepdad of the group sort of nodding off whenever they gossipped about high school. Still, one thing is for sure: Nina De Mari is a fucking riot. She and I became our own little group mocking everything we could stand to recall about Chipain's. It wasn't long before we mocked even the other people at Six Flags with us, because guess what: 1) Amber, you never fell off a motorcycle. Not even close. 2) Ann, that's some nice hypochondria you're wearing, I like the headache that flares up every time someone suggests something you don't want to do. Work it with some boots. A couple of weeks later, I went back to Six Flags with my family, including younger cousins Tyler and Bryanna. Bryanna was classically sassy, even if it was in that 13-going-on-grown-up way. During a break in the action, we scoped out Gurnee Mills, where Bryanna spied on a potential hottie in H&M for me. No dice. Her verdict: "He's okay... also, he has a lazy eye. He was looking at the clothes and at me at the same time." Price. Less. Except I received a wake-up call about my precious Bryanna just last week, when I stumbled upon her myspace. To mothers of 13-year-old girls: FUCKING WATCH OUT FOR THIS SHIT. Bryanna's profile detailed her 10+ boyfriends, her interest in "chacolate boys," her likening to "an oreo... i luv being the white between the two chacolate parts." GOD HELP US! SHE'S 13! I'm thinking of saying something to her unconfrontationally... especially because I'm someone she has a chance of actually listening to. The whole thing is bizarre and disturbing, and I hope Bryanna isn't doing anything unsafe. Though, I'm sorry, if two of your boyfriends are in high school, and you're going into 8th grade, there's something the fuck wrong. I only date 8th graders when I know they want a man to call "Mommy." But that's it, you guys.
My Lemont life proves difficult when it comes to figuring where I stand in terms of friends. Thing is, I have more than one group of friends, but at the same time, I don't feel like a permanent part of any group. Sounds ideal, but it really isn't. It ends up resulting in me feeling like a second-string friend (or, more appropriately, a less personal friend) to most of my compadres. I spend most of the time with my mom, really, and that's time spent crunched over a Scrabble board with one of us bitching about unfair tiles. Truly, my scenario with my friends would be ideal for a certain kind of person -- someone not compulsive about permanence. Ding-ding, that isn't me. I suppose I'll have to continue to devote myself to replaying Mariah Carey's "It's Like That" and Prince's "Black Sweat" until sweeter love comes around. Impossible? Probably.
In the meantime I'm doing what I can to live in the present and enjoy my time off before, oh, I never have any spare time ever again back at Iowa. Here's another revelation: I can't say I'm hardcore excited about editing and RA-ing. They'll both have their fun times, and they'll both be, undoubtably, learning experiences, but I hope I don't use them as ways to divert myself from being happy. College has forced me time and time again to question myself, my goals, and my happiness... and because I can't safely answer those questions, I feel ill-equipped to be in a power position on campus (let alone two). I hope I'm an available-enough RA. I hope I can edit well, and ask all the right investigative questions. I hope I'm fair and constructive with advice for the other writers. For the love of God, I hope I don't look like a joke. And throughout it all, I hope there's love in all this. I don't want to feel like I'm simply returning to an empty dorm room when the day is done. I hope things sticks with me, and I hope I sincerely stick to others. Daily Iowan, I'ma stickwitu forever, aren't I? You, me, and the Pussycat Dolls, for real.
Speaking of trash acts, do not even get me started on my favorite ho Kelis! Do not even get me started! You asshole, it's too late. Kelis' new-ish single "Bossy" DOMINATES my life! Leave it to Kelis to make "bossy" the new "sassy." She's out of control, and her video is ridiculous. Flailing on the floor of some whack Cristal party some of the time, and then shaking her ass in some UNHEARD OF denim, empire-waisted pants. God help us, and God love Kelis!
So that's all for now. Glad I checked in after this month of absence -- it was pretty good for me. In the middle of writing this entry, Kimmie picked me up to drive around with, so my flow was a little interrupted. Like a prepared rapper, I still flowed. I'm fucken 2Pac + 1, y'all. That's like 3 whole Pac. Anyway, thanks for listening, and lord knows where I'll be next. Though I'd check register three if I were you. Love you.
Back with an 808, cuz I'm BOSS-AY! Xoxo,
Louis
|