house party: Le Chris on Ohio/Division
IF anyone who reads this (and I can probably count you on one hand, or two fingers) isn't going to be in Peoria or camping or wherevs on Saturday night, my brother is having some people over to his new apt. They have a fantastic roof with an aaaamazing view of the city...and hard wood floors! I guess that last thing isn't
too cool. Well, it is for the danceparty I intend to create if it isn't already going on.
I have to work at the bookstore 9-3pm and then I babysit my favorite trio of comic book creators until 10ish. I'm probably heading to the city around then, maybe 1130 at the latest.
If you're interested in some frat-tific activities, call my phone today or tomorrow!
I bought a peach-colored dentist's chair
The village is tearing down the buildings behind my house that used to be Raasch Pharmacy, various doctor and dentist offices, and an interior decorating service. I've been able to watch the crane tearing down the apartments directly behind my house--they even have a fire hose but I still can't figure out why they're spraying the debris--so I've taken some pictures with my crappy disposable camera that I bought in the clearance bin at Walgreens. So strange to watch these buildings go down, which have basically been our shade from the sun ever since my parents lived here (30+ years now). And I keep thinking about Raasch, and when I discovered I could have a "family charge account" so me and Maureen Faydash would hit that place constantly and buy Jay's Bar-B-Q chips, Dr. Peppers, chocolate Charleston Chews, strawberry Big League Chew, and, if we were feeling particularly spend-thrifty, we would get ice cream. They had this delicious chocolate malt-in-a-cup and you got to eat it with a wooden "spoon." Whenever I had friends over, I'd always say, hey wanna go to Raasch? And we'd spend like $4 or $5 there. This is my early experience with credit. I'll never forget my parents confronting me with the bill and being like, Sarah, do you understand what a charge account is? Of course in my head I thought, yeah! Free food!
Oh, but so on my way back from babysitting, I saw the two chairs sitting on the sidewalk, one lime green, the other peach, so I decided to ask the guys who were tearing down the buildings if I could buy one. They were going to sell them on Ebay for $200 or $250, so I was trying to be respectful of the fact that they were technically there first and had "finders, keepers" rights, but the other construction guy was like, Just sell it to her for a hundred, Chad! So later on today, they're going to drop it off. And I totally needed a chair in my room, and now I have a RECLINER! Plus, they're throwing in the matching spit-bowl for no added charge and Katie (who was with me at this point) said I should turn it into a glass-covered table, like for drinks! Wonderful idea! I hope it's more comfortable than it looks though. Maybe I'll just buy a shit-load of pillows. I can't wait!
I babysat today, for Lizzie and Doyle, and I'm getting obsessed with babysitting again. As I was about to leave, she was like, Sarah, don't go home! Kids are the coolest. And I forgot to mention that when Maggie saw me at Memorial Park (when I was the pied piper for children, from that earlier post), she said she recognized me bc of my Jackie O's. She said, "No other babysitter wears huge glasses like that." How true. But today, I made two killer hopscotch courses (multi-colored this time) and we played Hide and Seek at Stone Monroe Park and did some chalk experiments with water on their driveway then we played school (Doyle and I were students though; Lizzie was "Ms. Lizzie"). She is a mini-mom, and I love it. We took a break from playing school to play house, and she tucked Doyle in, covering him up in a blanket, whispering to him, "Okay bud, time to go to sleep. It's okay baby, time to go to sleep." And I was imagining
her mom saying that to them--of course that's where Lizzie learns to be a mom! Then she tucked
me in, and gave me a Madeleine doll to "sleep" with (nighttime was really like four minutes long with the lights in the basement turned off), and I thought to myself how much getting tucked in rules. No wonder kids love it, it gives you such a level of security before falling asleep like, ah, there is someone who cares just to what extend my blankets are tucked around me.
I have to go with my mom to pick up a rental car though, and we might catch a matinee of "Crash" which I'm excited about seeing; I'll see any movie with Don Cheadle in it. Even if he plays Little Black Sambo or something awfully typecast.
...and today I acted like a 30 year old suburbanite!
First off, my crafto-meter has been on HIGH lately, culminating with me buying a cheap visor from Tar-jay on an "errands outing" with K and R. I made myself a statement visor with a green sharpie. I was going to make myself a statement tee (I bought a bunch of tees from Hobby Lobby and lots of packages of iron-on letters with the intent of t-shirt making great phrases I've heard or invented lately) ever since my mom's colleague Gary (the guy behind the villa in Grimaud, France) told me he started making his own t-shirts to wear to his workouts with his personal trainer. I can't remember the sayings he put on them, but he made them up, and they were all hysterical, especially bc he's my mom's age and I imagined him with a personal trainer. But he told me MY catchphrase should be, "If you don't want an answer, don't ask the question!" which basically sums up the last 7-8 weeks of my life. Wow, I never thought I would be able to pare down a certain period in my life and assign it a catchphrase, as if it's my personal philosophy. At the moment, it kind of is. Everyone has commented lately, from my family to Maura to Mike Boomsma, about the intensity with which I've been talking, and
how much I've been talking. But for me, my visor says it all. I guess I'd rather have people tell me outright (Maura got to this point after absinthe-fueled Prague) that they don't want to listen to me...which is completely fine. I understand I don't have the best or most original things to say. But what people
don't understand, I think, is that I feel more of a physical and emotional urge to speak, than to say anything I want "heard." I don't know if that makes sense. A year ago from today, or last week, or next week, or whatever point in the summer you want to pick, I was essentially shut up. I would hang out occasionally, and I worked full-time, but for the most part, I was completely dissociated with anything (or anyone) that remotely meant anything to me, my self included. I know now I was still observing, and still thinking, and still listening, during that time but I was so obsessed with the concept of being depressed and
how the fuck do I feel differently? that I didn't realize those parts of me were still operational. And now, it's an explosion! Of words, of ideas, of directness, of confidence, of everything I thought I lacked, but really had there all along; it was just dormant during that period of my life, which though it sucked immensely, I wouldn't trade for anything bc I'm in this point now, and I've never been in a spot like this before, so it feels excellent...fantastic...tubular...did I cross the line with that last one?
So I know I'm wordy, but tough shit, no one else HAS to read this. At least no one reading this is a professor who is forced to read (and grade) these posts--YOU have the option of quitting my blog anytime. I probably will never apologize for writing too much, since I've been doing it since the second grade. Everything I've written has always exceeded the maximum, but I've never felt like that's something to apologize for...since when does having too many words or too many ideas count against one? See, I didn't even get to talk about what I meant to talk about (my trip to Home Cheapo and Tar-jay with my parents; talking on a conference call for an hour; taking care of fiscal responsibilty via phone with Sallie Mae--with whom I have a love/hate relationship; and on that topic, my love/hate relationship with Readers Digest, a staple in our bathroom since I learned to read; going grocery shopping at Trader Joe's for the fam; my latest email sesh with Sean Wilsey) because once I get going, I slip into some unknown tangent I hadn't even planned on when I sat down. Mostly today, I was thinking about the suburban lifestyle, like when I watched my parents interact at the Depot and when I listened to this kid in Target throw a continous tantrum from housewares all the way to electronics (god, he had pipes!). Part of me wants to be there, like actually being a suburbanite! But then, after spending ten minutes with my mom (and I am NOT exaggerating, it may have been less than ten minutes), I wanted to scream at her. Or throw her cd case from the backseat into the front passenger seat, where she was sitting, at her face. I don't have this rage level with Rog; lately, I've been so annoyed with every word that comes out of my mom's mouth. I spent high school and college like this, but didn't really start getting openly mad at her until recently, and it's been kind of exhiliratingly scary.
Okay, well, I'm waiting for a phone call from Annaliese. She's got so much news, and I've got so much news that we planned "thurs night phone call" into our week so we could allow enough time to catch up. Until then, I guess I'll read? A magazine?
add-ons from before
...since I'm not tired yet but the rest of the girlfriends went home. Oh, and this sucks, bc I feel like I waited all day to see everyone, but bc of work schedules, etc., we didn't meet up til later and now I have some shitty beer running through me and I feel like I could stay up all night! Ah well. Welcome to Adult Summer 2005.
some things I've been thinking about that maybe you should too:
"You don't write bc you want to say something; you write bc you've got something to say."
--Scott Fitzgerald (who I wish I got to first before Zelda, who fucked him up royally)
"I write for the same reason I breathe--bc if I didn't, I would die."
--Isaac Asimov (I normally don't like sci-fi, but I like him a lot more bc of this quote...and bc Rog reads a lot of Ray Bradbury, so there must be
something to the genre)
"Being a star is every patriotic American's dream."
--Bart Simpson (this I found in the Quotable Quotes section of Readers Digest, which used to be one of my favorite sections--I used a bunch of their quotes when I Crayola-markered quotes on the back of my bedroom door in the sixth grade, an idea totally ripped off from Katherine Faydash--but now it's strictly celebrity/pop culture icon quotes and I HATE that...there's even a picture of Bart in this month's issue with his skateboard, which to me, seems to be going against everything Readers Digest once stood for...ah, my love/hate is stirring...)
what else do am I thinking about? Tonight I had some time on my hands when I was waiting for Anna's call (which came at 1030, after Katie, Will, and Maura had picked me up, of course) so I copied down lyrics from my favorite Bloc Party songs bc they seem to get where I'm at at this point in my life. The media is always asking for things that "define a generation" or whatevs (I don't even know what "generation" I'm in...the tail end of Gen X? Gen Y, which sounds gay, so I don't want to associate with them? I've invented the "nintendo generation" and maybe on another post I'll talk about that, but not tonight), and for me, right now, Bloc Party gets it. Or at least just me, a nerdy 22 year old who spends her Thursdays going on shopping outings with her parents. So maybe I'll just transcribe those again and then end for tonight. Bc I bet if I really try, I could go to sleep. I just don't want to right now.
BANQUET (#4--my jam!)
A heart of stone, a smoking gun
I can give you life, I can take it away
A heart of stone, a smoking gun
I’m working it out
Why’d you feel so underrated?
Why’d you feel so negated?
Turning away from the light
Becoming adult
Turning into my soul
I wanted to bite not destroy
To feel her underneath
Turning into the light
She don’t think straight
She’s got such a dirty mind and it never ever stops
And you don’t taste like her and you never ever will
And we don’t read the papers, we don’t read the news
Heaven’s never enough, we will never be fooled
And if you feel a little left behind
I will see you on the other side
Cos I’m on fire
I’m on fire when you come
I’m on fire so stub me out
THIS MODERN LOVE
To be lost in the forest
To be cut adrift
You been trying to reach me
You bought me a book
To be lost in the forest
To be cut adrift
I been paid
I been paid
Don’t get offended
If I seem absentminded
Just keep telling me facts
And keep making me smile
Don’t get offended
If I seem absentminded
I get tongue-tied
Baby, you’ve got to be more discerning
I’ve never known what is good for me
Baby, you’ve got to be more demanding
I will be yours
I’ll pay for you anytime
You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness
Well jump on, enjoy, you can gorge away
You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness
Jump right
Baby, you’ve got to be more discerning
I’ve never known what is good for me
Baby, you’ve got to be more demanding
Jump left
What are you holding out for?
What’s always in the way?
Why so damn absentminded?
Why so scared of romance?
This modern love breaks me
This modern love wastes me
Do you wanna come over and kill some time?
Throw your arms around me
I'm basically obsessed with this whole album right now, but these are my favs. Okay, well, goodnight.
today I got to be the pied piper!
Weird--who
wants to be the pied piper? But seriously, I ran into so many kids I used to babysit for at the park today that they were all literally pulling me in opposite directions. And...I loved it. It's kind of like when I take Mulligan for a walk or make her wait outside Walgreens for me, and people are constantly saying, "What kind of dog is he?" "How old is your doggy?" "Oh my god, she's so cute! What's her name?" No one else I know gives Mulligan that much attention (which she rightfully deserves) so sometimes when she seems low, I take her out to the streets of LaGrange so we can both feel like celebrities, even if we're getting love from people who don't know us. We're stars! But this morning I went to babysit for a family who recently got a new addition and the two I babysat for (while the mom took the newborn out), Lizzie and Doyle, are so fun and easy to play with. They're excited by everything I show them, and I forgot how much I'm obsessed with babysitting, especially when the kids look at you like you're smartest, neatest, funniest person on the planet (aside from their parents, but they have rules, and I don't, so hah!). Maybe I'm just immature and "too" in touch with my young self, but I get along so well with the kids I babysit for. We ran into Liam and Owen (and their pregant mom Colleen) at Memorial Park, and oh my god, I've never had such a welcoming. I hadn't seen them since I got home from Europe and I've babysat for them since Liam was a baby. Liam saw me from across the park and yelled my name, then Owen ran at me to give me a hug while Liam was hiding under the slide. Then Liam (who once told his mom, "Mama, Sarah's a real pretty girl"--too bad he's not twenty years older, I could at last marry a true Irishman and make my grandma die a happy woman) ran over to give me a huge hug and I almost felt like crying...these two got to meet Maura and Will one afternoon when we were in downtown LG (at the candy shop--no wonder kids like me) and the three big kids took them to the Cossitt School park. I kind of felt like a real adult, even though we had climb over the fence and hoist them between "big kids" in order to get to the playground.
Also at Memorial Park, while I was freaking out over Liam and Owen, Maggie ran up next to me, a girl I used to babysit for last summer and the summer before (well, actually,
she is one person who is as obsessed with Mulligan as I am, but completely brought on by my stories and devotion). She was there with her brothers Kevin and John, and their new (!) babysitter, Moira--I'm suddenly feeling like I only know Irish people. I'd had some ups and downs with them bc we were together constantly and they were older, so they got bored easier and weren't as impressed with my bizarre voices and hopscotch skills. I'm totally going to be the mom who, once their kids hit ten, they'll start telling me, "Gaaahhhd, Maaaahhhmmmm...you're so embarrassing and WEIRD. Why can't you be more like Madison's mom? She's a cool mom!" To which I'll respond, "FINE! You want me to be a 'cool mom'? Go up in my underwear drawer and grab some of my mushrooms and we'll go trip in the backyard! Is
that cool enough for you?!" Just kidding. I'm still not sure what I will do as a parent about smoking, drinking, and drugs. Definitely don't want to be the house where constant keggers are thrown each weekend and teens have sex in my bedrooms and drunken high schoolers piss all over my geraniums. Yuck. I don't think I'll have any geraniums at my house anyways. Well, Liam and Owen had to go grocery-shopping with Colleen, and before they left, Liam said to me, "Sarah, you want to come over to my house tomorrow?" And then he said, "Can I ask you something?" I said sure. Then he says really quietly, "Can I have a hug?" Again, I almost died. I probably made his mom jealous as hell though. Oh well, I'm jealous he's not
my son.
What else...still waiting to hear about my Prentice Hall job. I have to be at home tomorrow to answer a call at 1230 from the director of recruiting so I'm not getting too excited yet. Oh, and Sean Wilsey emailed me, and I emailed him back, told him to check out Bloc Party (he was a big Cure fan) and how I fought Brad on the topic of Bloc Party's worthiness on Saturday...I still don't think people who work at Urban Outfitters are allowed to make music assessments just bc they're heavily into "underground music." I'm still a little fuming. Maybe once I get Sean Wilsey on my side, I can be like, in your face Brad!
becoming a paranoid blogger...
Um...kind of scared about what to write now that I've realized how far-reaching the blogworld is. Not that I shouldn't be approached for my behind-the-scenes talk, but I do kind of wonder how the source remained anonymous. Ah well, maybe Kelly and I should have just had a wrestling match (I still don't understand how to fight "clean" without nails and fists) but we discussed it as adults--locked in Nick/Jason's bathroom, forcing others to pee off the balcony or in the backyard.
Also kind of scared about my identity! Ever since Tommy said he took all traces of his identity off his blog, I'm terrified I'm going to wake up one morning and the SWAT team from Argon will raid my room, like in "Hackers" when Joey gets arrested. But I do have the benefit of never having been arrested in my whole life (campo interactions in Portland and St. Pete colleges were easy to talk my way out of); only getting a juvie card from the La Grange Park police station when I was 8 or 9 (or something like that) for teepeeing (T.P.ing?) a house...across the street from the police station! I must have been 8 or 9 to be
that dumb. Then again, I threw parties at my house in high school, as did Faydash's (Dudek's probably too), and we were a block away from the station. And I would sometimes put the empties in giant plastic bags and hide them in the pine trees in front of my house--idiot! Le Chris said he took the blame for most of those. Thanks older, wiser, well-partied brother.
Other than my paranoia, thing worthy of mentioning is that Sean Wilsey emailed me today! I'm obsessed with him and his book. I told his to warn his wife that he was probably dealing with his first groupie (I'm sure there will be others). But he was so polite, and thanked me for coming to the reading, and loving his book, and promoting it the best I could. I was embarrassed to tell him we don't even have
Oh the Glory of it All! in my bookstore, but I promised I would make Don or Brendan order some (tons) soon. I actually told them to do that today; that's where I am right now. But at-work blogging comes to an end this Thursday, when the computer up-front is taken out. Brendan was livid about it, and plans on saying something to the Andersons. Yessss! I guess if I have no computer, I'll have to go back to reading trash magazines again, which is almost equally as fun as blogging. Okay,
way better than blogging. I think I might go grab the new issue of
Vanity Fair bc of the article on Pete Doherty. I want to see if he really is still dating Kate Moss. I
have to go to their wedding if it happens; her 30th bday party was themed "The Beautiful and Damned," a Fitzgerald book, and I KNOW her wedding will be roaring 20s and flowing with booze and drugs. Maybe she's permanently scarred over Johnny Depp though and will never get married.
special announcement: sarah and tommy are engaged!
This past Saturday, I met an amazing woman...her name is Katie Holmes, but I call her "Kate." We have a fantastic connection, she is absolutely wonderful, and I've never met a more fabulous person in the whole world. I am craaaazzzyyy in love with Kate, and will pump my fist on the floor for you to believe it.
But Kate and I ran into a bit of a scuffle this weekend at the national headquarters of Scientology in Sarasota, FL [editor's note: really Argon National Laboratory in Darien; google me or Tommy in governmental websites and we'll probably come up as "serious threats to national security" after being involved in a "breach of protocol" i.e. drunken sneak-in with me under a purple sleeping bag in the trunk of the Dangermobile]...see, I was trying to get Kate to convert to Scientology. And why shouldn't I? I planned all along to propose to her, and Scientology is the greatest religion on the face of the earth [editor's note: I wanted to put "religion" in quotes since it was essentially ("essentially") invented by L. Ron Hubbard] but I can't at this point in my life [seriously past-his-prime A-list homosexual actor needing a publicity jump for his summer blockbuster movie] marry a woman who doesn't share in my spiritual beliefs. On the private jet plane into Sarasota (John Travolta let us dock our plane near his mansion in Sarasota--shot out to my fellow Scientologists, Travolta and Kirstie Alley!), I had Kate read over some selections from the Scientology handbook so she would more conducive to conversion as I watched over her while standing atop my leather plane seat--that's right, I no longer sit on furniture meant to be sit on; I stand, and occasionally jump on it. [I found this in Radar magazine today in my psychiatrist's waiting room and here is the writer's intro: "Ridding yourself of trapped Body Thetans--those pesky evil spirits from your past lives--is never an easy process. The procedure, developed by Church of Scientology found L. Ron Hubbar, requires disciples to answer 343 questions while hooked up to an E-meter (essentially a tricked-out polygraph machine). Below, a sampling of those questions from an internal church document labeled "HCO WW Sec Form 4":]
Have you ever enslaved a population? Have you ever made love to a dead body?
Have you ever debased a nation's currency? Have you ever engaged in piracy?
Have you ever killed the wrong person? Have you ever been a pimp?
Have you ever torn out someone's tongue? Have you ever eaten a human body?
Have you ever been a professional critic? Have you ever disfigured a beautiful thing?
Have you ever wiped out a family? Have you ever been a professional executor?
Have you ever tried to give sanity a bad name? Have you given robots a bad name?
Have you consistently practiced sex in some Have you ever set up a booby trap?
unnatural fashion? Have you ever failed to rescue your leader?
Have you ever made a planet, or nation,
radioactive?
Okay, it's me Sarah again. I can't pretend to be Tom Cruise anymore, even after Tommy and I agreed to take the blog world by storm and I would be TC (since I have been pretty kooky lately and talking lots of crazy--no couch jumping or Oprah attacks, but I've been close a few times) and he would be my meek, wide-eyed young girlfriend, KH. But really, I can't believe people believe in this "religion." I've never made a planet or nation radioactive, but I definitely have made booby traps ("Booby traps?" "That's what I said, setting booby traps in case anyone, like the Fertellis, are following us!") and I guess practiced sex in some unnatural fashion, whatever that means. Those Scientologists are wacky. I'm glad I'm out of Florida; I bet Sarasota is having an influx of paparazzi around the headquarters. Oh, speaking of paparazzi, I have to transcribe this story, also from Radar magazine, but it's about Kevin Federline and that's pretty much all I need for entertainment purposes: "During a recent shoot by snapper Steven Klein for the April cover of Italian high-style bible
L'Uomo Vogue, Kevin Federline entertained crew members by throwing back rum and Cokes at noon--the only available salve for an obvious hangover--and griping about the drawbacks of his unearned fame. What really gets K-Fed's cornrows in a kink? 'The fuckin pazzarati.' 'The what?' asked our befuddled spy. 'You know, the fuckin pazzarati,' K-Fed clarified. 'They won't leave us alone.' Realizing Federline was referring to the paparazzi who chronicle the couple's every late-night Funyans run, staffers gleefully prodded him to continue his malapropist mewling for the remainder of the shoot." Ha ha ha...I especially liked the Funyans part...reminds me of when a certain pop star went to a gas station bathroom barefoot and grabbed her husband's crotch on a hotel room balcony for all the "pazzarati" to see.
So, Kate, I had a blast nearly getting arrested at Argon and preferring to philosophically muse on Who Moved My Cheese? symbology over sleeping or sobering up. Plus, you got to experience the female version of a danger ride, just not in Dangermobile, in Rog's Honda with the dog cover over the leather interior. And the Mulligan smell embedded inside. Gross. Even
I think her smell crosses the line sometimes.
Tonight, I had book group and I know I was whining about it before but I forget how much I really enjoy everyone in my book group. Only one of the sisters was there, Grace, and at one point, she was discussing the slutty character in
One Hundred Years of Solitude (can't tell you the name--maybe Ermanda?--because I never got around to opening the book, or even looking at the cover) and she said, "She was beastly! And that's an afront to beasts!" Direct quote. She's pretty funny. And then later, Bridgey (Kathy, Meg, and Sheila's neice, who lives in Houston with her family) came over to girl talk with us and she is basically me when I was 8. Same summer tan, same Kathy-braided-hairstyle, same hamminess. I think we're going to do the Finding Nemo slip n' slide together this week...if not that, then definitely sprinkler or a visit to the LFC (sorry, La Grange Field Club, the pool I used to belong to and swim on swim team for in the summers). I went to Katie's for a meet-up with the girlfriends (Kate, Tino, Maura, and Will; later Zach stopped by on his way back from Minnesota since their house is right off the tollroad on Ogden); they were already playing a pretty delicious round of Scrabble so I had a glass of wine and....watched. It was a good game--they actually got words in nearly all four corners--but Will refused to take a picture since he's decided to ignore the Scrabbler blog and let it die away quietly. So if you're out there and you love the Scrabbler, Katie is considering taking it over and turning it into a "kitty kat + Scrabble" blog. I think we should all rally for Katie to get a blog anyways. Or at least force Will to save it.
Okay, I promised Zach two days ago I would find us White Stripes tix so I HAVE to do that now...or it's never!
