Lady Gaga - Born This Way

And home before dark.

I'd rather bathe in coffee, but that might give me a tan.

That's the first bath I've taken in many years. In fact, I think the last one I took was with Celeste and Gibran in the eighth grade, after swimming. And even so, it had been quite a long time up until that point. The idea of bathing in your own filth still kind of sicks me out, so I'm surprised I even did so today. 
I think I'll stick to showering. 


And now I think it's time to brew some more coffee. 

Throw that shit away, girl.

I woke up this morning with two distinct scratches on my left arm that are thin enough to look like they came from my cat, and my pinky finger nail on my right hand is a tad uneven, which makes it a bit sharper than usual. So I'm assuming that's the reason, although the idea of my cat laying atop my sleeping body strategically deciding where to scratch me is pretty damn funny, and something I've considered at more than one time. It doesn't happen too often but every now and then I'll wake up with some "unexplainable" scratches. From myself. Probably. Certainly.         Weird.
I used to have a hard time drinking warm coffee. I used to have a hard time with the taste of coffee in general, but now I can't go a day without. So much so that Mum will leave drink me post-its on the coffee maker or suggest I make myself a pot when I wake up. In between the last sentence and this one I just refreshed the cup I'm currently drinking. Sometimes I'll find cups around the house with lukewarm coffee in them, with a little wisp of creamer that has settled on the surface of the drink and I'll think, "How could Mom possibly let this happen?" I've even asked her. She says something along the lines of, "Well I had already had a cup. This was after I had warmed it up." I don't get it. I've got to finish my coffee before I do anything. Anything physical at least. 


I've just spotted my Dreamcast sitting over there in front of the TV. It seems to be calling my name. I can't start cleaning my room until Darla is awake and out of bed / the room [out of courtesy of course]. But what to play.. What. To. Play.


Drag Queen Coco Peru just gave a monologue to a young man in a bathroom about a blowjob in this not very good movie from 1999 that's playing on LoGo, which says it's time to move on with my entertainment for the day.

IAMX - Ghosts of Utopia (Official music video)

Tucson Weekly Anyone?

Tastes Like Haribo Blood.

I walked today from school downtown to Epic Cafe on 4th ave. It's amazing how my sense of safety fluctuates depending on where I am. I'm more comfortable on certain streets downtown, and passing storefronts on 4th. It's the seemingly unpopulated areas littered with broken glass, and dirty clothes that worry me. At the sight of anyone shifty and/or scraggly I immediately tense up and my inner dialogue says, "You're going to die!" "I hope you don't get stabbed!" "He's going to know that you really do carry cash!" "Walk faster!" Being alone and a woman might have a lot to do with that. And don't start on me with your feminism mumbo jumbo! It's fucking true! Other young women complimented my hairs in front of the Hippie Gypsy, but I suffered a couple wolf whistles from a truck full of Mexicans down the street, and was mildly terrified by the man who asked me for change coming toward me in the crosswalk. I thought he was following behind me for the next block or so and my adrenaline yelled at me until I finally mustered up the courage to look behind me to find that it was only a business-y looking woman who came out of no where.


There's nothing like coming home to home made macaroni and cheese, grinding your own salt, pepper, and other every day seasonings onto it, and pouring a glass of Tampico Punch in to a former orange juice filled Mason Jar. Hello four day weekend!

Did you know there's a doll with its face based on Bjork? Well. There is.

Chad's going on about jokes about broccoli being funnier than ones about garlic.

I think I may actually be getting sick, which is a real let down. Of course this is the case because I'm coming up on a four day weekend. I’ve been sucking down cough drops, and Vitamin C tablets and powders. How frustrating it is. I’m already tired of the way my nose has been acting.
Today we’re going to have a few guest speakers come in from Arizona Theatre Company for drama class. I believe it’s some of the cast members from LOST IN YONKERS, and they’re probably going to talk a bit about the show, and then have the kids do perspective exercises. I may choose to opt out of participating in that, because I’m lazy and would prefer not to be here in general. What’s new?
Every time I get my hands on one of these school MacBooks I assess how easy it may or may not be to steal one. It’s a bad idea, but I’m tempted. I just need to save enough money to buy one on my own. Mum tends to think it’s a bad idea because we don’t know anyone who has “Mac knowledge” who could fix it if it screwed up, but there’s and Apple store, is there not? I would rather invest some money in something that works, than to buy a cheap PC, and have to deal with its constant updates, viruses, and overall shitiness. We will see. Won’t we?
I made a To Do list today of all of the things that I should do over Rodeo break, and I’m really hoping that I’ll be able to accomplish all of them. I just have an obscene amount of cleaning to do, and assuming if I wake up early enough, that shouldn’t take too much time to get done.
I’m thinking of making a video about glitter addiction, which would entail inappropriate use of a vial of glitter I have, a mirror, and a library card. And maybe some accusatory lighting. I’m still coming up with the overall concept.. but.. you didn’t hear it from me.

I need to start drawing real people. I drew a mini portrait of Michelle today, and I was actually unusually satisfied with it. I suppose it’s just the practice I need, and overall it might just help me when it comes to inspiration.

I wrote down the date yesterday.

Guess what?

Be ready if a heart attack strikes.

What does it say about your life, your mom, and your relationship with your mom when this is the kind of thing she sends you via Facebook message with the phrase, "reminded me of you" attached?

That you might just need to stop drawing naked ladies.

How Choice.

I was having a pretty awful week, last. I honestly couldn’t put my finger on what the issue[s] was/were, but I’m trying to go into this week with a more open mind, and with a little more ability to control my feelings. I realized today why I tend to have not so great days on Modays, Wednesdays, and sometimes Fridays. My Precalculus and Global Studies classes are both taught by student teachers, one who writes down everything, smells, and gets too close for comfort, and the other who has us do really strange and unclear lessons, grades too tough, and spends way too much time on certain topics. And both of them like to ask questions, and have us spend time on topics we know nothing about. Remotely. That's frustrating because you would think they would learn after almost a full quarter of school that if you ask a question to the whole class, and no one answers for almost two minutes EVERY TIME that it would be smart to try a different tactic. But there's nothing I can do about that except muddle through some more, and write snippy blogs in the Drama class I pretend to teach.
Tom just mentioned the wedding singer and it make me think about how desperately I want to sing that silly song to you. Also I just simultaneously cracked each and every one of my fingers on the ceiling. HUZZAH!
I'm thinking of changing fonts. I don't think I'll do so any time soon though. Maybe I'll do so if I start the new blog I've been considering. I have a title for it, but maybe it's a title for something else. Hard to say.
There's about thirty minutes left of this class, and I can't bring myself to be engaged. Jessie didn't show up today, so I'll most likely go to Shot In The Dark after school to get an Italian soda of coffee drink, and a bagel, or a burrito. I've got to spend enough money there to use my card. Lovely, eh? Perhaps I'll sit in the non-smoking section to give my lungs a break.I've had the phrase, "She can't escape her own escapism," from the MR. MARMALADE preview video stuck in my head since Saturday. I wonder why. It's been a while since I've viewed it.I've got a lot of cleaning to do in my home. My bedroom, my area in the living room, and my "side of the bathroom." Between writing a paper, working on THE FIFTH OF JULY, and being just not at home in general, it's been hard to find any time to do so. But I've got a four day weekend coming up, which should give me some much needed time to clean. How nice it will be. I will listen to mix CDs, and fill boxes, and organize to my heart's content. Hot damn!

Zetus Lapetus.

Sitting in the office at the theatre and Debra comes in with one of the girls taking the class that's in session right now. The girl asks, "Is that your natural hair color." "No," I say, "It's dyed."
Debra proceeds to tell her that some of the best women in comedy have red hair, and that out of many of the people she knows in person, I'm one of the funniest comedians she knows, and that she was thrilled when I made the choice to go red... uh-huh. The girl clearly wasn't listening as she shuffled her feet and remained looking in my direction. 
"She looks like a fairytale... she looks.. like. A fairytale of some sort." And she walked away smiling. Debra and I continued talking about my hair, which made her get on the topic of Allegra and her hair which is a BIG surprise. 

This morning I checked my Facebook and found that my best friend from the second grade, Andrea Romero, had sent me a message. Below is our exchange:

ANDREA - hiii, so im going to feel really lame if you don't remember, but i was watching zenon girl of the 21st century and thought of you, because in first grade during lunch and recess we would play that we lived in the space station and that we were the characters from the movie. haa


LUCY - Wow. It's crazy you sent me this message because seeing your post last night reminded me of the same thing. I used to make those little cardboard, red zap pads.
And they're real now with all of that phone zkype nonsense. But yes. I wholeheartedly remember that, and kind of wanted to cry reading your message.
Lucy

ANDREA - Honestly, your cardboard creations are one of my favorite childhood memories. I loved being nebula while you were zenon. Ha

It still boggles my mind that there are other people who remember little things like this, but more mind boggling is that some choose to share those memories. How sweet that is.

The beta fish in the office likes to lay down on the rocks. What? That's seriously one of the weirdest things ever. It just lays there.

Let's name the zones, the zones, the zones.

Every morning when I wake up I stare at the clothes, under and not, hanging off the doors of my dresser and on my floor. And I don't do anything about them because I don't have the time to, but also because I keep thinking back to the idea of my room turning into a coral reef. I'm an octopus sleeping in a shell or cave while the anemone and coral grows around me in the strangest collections and combinations of shape, color, and pattern known to man. I don't stir from my cave for six hours a day, until I forcefully awake from the REM stage of sleep I've just barely gotten to. I leave to spew bits of ink on peers, and to wrap my tentacles around the monsters I lured out from under my bed, from out of my closet, and from behind the shower curtain. I don't eat [healthy] enough food, and then swim back to my place of rest, and plant something new. 


I wish I could type in my handwriting. It's much more satisfactory.

Had enough? Let's hope not.

I was having a hard time with yesterday. I woke up late, watched people die on film, and realized that for the last two weeks I've been sitting next to an empty chair in almost every class. Now that I have my wits about me I can better understand that waking up late only meant wearing a T-shirt, and slapping on makeup too fast. That watching people dying on film was good for me in a way [I'm still trying to justify that one.] And that sitting next to no one is no big loss and only ever something temporary. I know I've got friends at that there school, but I don't have to have a "best" there because, really, is it that worth it? It just leads to inevitable shit talking on both sides, and far too much "ssssh"-ing, and a diminishing amount of concentration. And who needs that?

Also. I need to floss. 

Hush. Hush. Hush.

"The first boy I had a crush on was named Dylan Lucas. Kindergarten. He had long hair.. that sure set the tone for my life." - Lucy


I just found that kid on Facebook, and let him know he was my first crush. Probably it will be very weird for him to read that message. That's my specialty. 

Sorry. Was Being Watched.

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! LUCY WASN'T A TOTAL TART THIS VALENTINE'S DAY. Really. I'm sure that could be up for discussion if you asked the right person. But between discussing first crushes and kisses with the entire drama class, eating pesto for days, and nesting in that cave.. today was pretty great. I still think Valentine's Day is pretty shitty though, and that you shouldn't devote one day to telling someone you love them via diamonds, or bad tasting candy hearts. But whatever. I'm over it. 
Sounds like it, yeah?

It's not freezer food. But it'll do.

It's no good unless he loves you.

All the way.

Don't be a - Just be a -

With my hair down, and hardly any makeups on my face, the window's down, and my head's against the "wall" of the vehicle. The wind pushes my skin, and closes my eyelids. My eyelashes feel like insects when I open my eyes for even a second. It feels a bit like a roller coaster. It makes me want to hold on to the chicken strap for dear life and sit on the car sill of the window with the upper half of my body sticking out of the vehicle. But I don't because that's not smart. And I can only slightly hear Cake playing, because the way my head's positioned fills my right ear with wind, and my left with your voice. When I do open my eyes I watch the shadow of your profile against the inside of the passenger door sing.
I want so much to write songs these days, but I doubt my abilities, as I always have. That won't stop me from trying.
I'm currently listening to Lady Gaga's BORN THIS WAY. It's even better the second time.
I need some glitter in/on my lips.

I look around me and I see it isn't so.

Something I hadn't realized until today: it's exceedingly difficult to use the restroom while wearing roller blades. Especially in your own home.

I've just watched one of the newer episodes of glee. Kurt and Blaine go out to get coffee. Blaine orders for the both of them and Kurt says, "you know my coffee order?" "of course I do." "That'll be $8.40" Kurt pulls out his wallet to which Blaine [I shit you not] replies, "Don't even bother dummy, it's on me."

I pause the show, as I'm watching it on Hulu with Darla, clunk stumble out of my seat with my roller blades on and skate down the hallway hunched over yelling, "WHAT?!" And proceed to Darla the strange significances in this exchange.

Crash. Boom. Bang.

At least he's not a drinker.

I've got way to many photos not to start posting them.

Turtle Shell.

And Toni said, "I don't think I get you. You're Leo.. it's weird." And you said, "She's her own separate breed. No. She's not like anyone."

Every time I say the word "succumb" I think of Sweeney Todd. 


Coming back to the house felt weird today. I didn't know what to do with myself. I walked in the door and Glee was on, but I couldn't watch it because it was halfway over, and that's bullshit. So I poured a glass of Virgin Lemonade, stared at the vegetables I found myself strangely not very hungry for [although that cauliflower I picked at was good], and walked into my room. I couldn't do anything until I finished drinking what was in my cup. The appropriate flickering of the lamp on my bedside table caught my attention, so I made my way to my closet and leaned on the door smiling with lemonAIDS in my mouth. I stared at my room debating whether or not it was worth it to get my video camera to try to capture how beautiful it was, but got distracted by how it must look with me asleep in that bed. I come back here merely to sleep these days, and it must be a sight to see. Something about the thought of me engulfed by my things, comfortably wading in a tide pool of dirty laundry, shoes, and knick knacks for centuries. I almost cried thinking about it. And that was weird. I finished my drink and while putting my cup on the counter noticed leftover coffee in the pot, so I fixed myself a cup. 
In my room once again I sat on my bed and took off my shoes, decided to shower, and it was only after I had taken my shirt off that I had realized that I didn't have everything I needed. I walked around my house in my bargain bra that went unnoticed due to the length of my hair, and found my new striped MADE IN BANGLADESH little boy underwear. A shower was a good choice for my muscles, and hairs after this weekend of 12+ hour days. It still looks like I'm bleeding when I stick my head in the stream of water. But at least I'm aware of the source. Mum's hand bled all over her bed today, and she looked around because she thought she was spilling something, not realizing it was her own blood.


I had a dream about Gibran last night for the first time since the one I had the night he killed himself, unknowing at that point that that was the case. The dream I had about him that night I don't remember. But last night he was working on a play with me. His lines kept getting cut and he wasn't happy in the process. I wasn't aware that I was dreaming. In the dream I thought it was all memory. And something in me thought, "You can save him. Tell him that it's not worth it." But I didn't get the chance to. I got distracted by the show and the director of it. And I remembered this dream on the way to the theatre today. "Oh!" I said, "I remember my dream from last night.. but.. I don't want to talk about it." It would have been difficult and pointless to vocalize. Seeing him again in that way was bittersweet, but at least my brain allowed me to.


Coming out of the shower in my negligee, with my matching coffee cup, and my hair in a big mohowk looking towel felt nice. Coffee before bed logic was, "You've got to be awake enough to: look at and save more photos from Tumblr of women wearing lace/underwear/heels, and other artsy fartsy things, and to post a few blogs." 


Kung Fu Panda on the TV reminds me of falling asleep in the same space as you, like a lady dragon in your two-summers-ago living room. And how sacred that was/is. Closed my eyes during CLASSICAL BABY, and opened them to an epic bridge fight, with you in the kitchen [and maybe a pie too], and my fingers intertwined with the too large fringe on the ends of those cylindrical pillows. My hand hand hurt and cramped for the next few days.


Human. Human. Feeling strangely human.

4.

Strangers in the Fright.

Writing blogs on Carley's iPad always concerns me. I never know how the font is going to end up, and that is, believe it or not, a big deal. I never thought that I could manage to stay so present whilst being terribly distracted by what is to come in the next year. I'm keeping up with my grades, I'm committed to doing all of my work in the theatre, and can still find time to think of things I want to get rid of before I move out. I want to tell everyone how happy I am. And sometimes I do.
We were assigned a prompt today for writing Friday in senior English. "describe a special place in your life and why it is so." I wrote about Live Theatre Workshop. I realized somewhere in writing it that all I've written about for school in the passed four years is the theatre, and the people there. Really. That and cannibalism.
Carlisle has pronounced Mr. Kant "Mr. Cunt" each and every time tonight. Even when saying the full version of the name. Get it together, woman.
I feel a little bit like I'm on autopilot lately. At least when I'm on my own. Get up. Get ready. Coffee [hopefully]. School. Bus. Home or theatre. Somewhere in there I get a little much needed interaction. Home. Sleep. I really appreciate the moments I get to have spent not by myself in an emotional respect. They're moments that make me feel almost sorry for those people that can have no part in this certain aspect of my life. But that feeling never sticks around for too long. It makes me appreciate my ability to be selfish.

I don't know how many times in the passed few days/weeks I've said, "I am a Leo and a Rooster so..." I have that as a viable excuse now. Ha. I've got the luckiest star possible fixed in my astrological charts. That explains a lot. Don't you think? If you were Jessie Birdman you would say, "okay. Well that's great and everything but I don't believe in that shit." She has every time I've mentioned anything related to the stars as of late. Thanks, Bird Man. Thanks. I've been unable to draw women with their clothes on for quite some time now. My mother tells me it's an "artistic phase." "Artists have phases." It's honestly just more appealing to me. And I will admit that even though it is asking for it a little bit, it's super frustrating when I spend a significant amount of time working on a piece and all someone can manage to say is "ohmygodlookatherboobsthatmakesmealittleuncomfortablesoiamgoingtomakeaninnapropriatereferencetothem" Come on people. Maybe I just need to suck it up. Still. It's pretty fucking annoying.
I'm thinking that maybe it's a necessary "phase" so that if and/or when I begin drawing clothed women again I will feel more comfortable understanding the body underneath. Not that I'm not comfortable with the body of a woman. Because let's face it. Have you seen me? In all seriousness, though, I love being a women and everything, but sometimes I get really bad cases of penis envy. No joke. I don't know what exactly it is. It could be many things, but I sometimes just wish that what I so often joke about having in my pants was a reality. Those are the best rumors. I got mistaken for a guy so often in middle school that when I got to high school I took it upon myself to tell everyone I had a dick. I tuck though. Reeeaaaallllllllllllly well.

I should get drawing.

I'd wear a coonskin hat.

I love coming home and not smelling like I did when I walked out the door.

Paperweight.

Sometimes I feel silly when I blog during class time. But whenever we do computer work I have the tendency to take directions really well, and usually get things done super fast. But I guess that holds true for the rest of my life too. Boastboastboast. I just got finished talking to Kayla about the episode of 30 ROCK I found on demand on monday in which Tracy Jordan forced Liz Lemon into an argument to the tune of "Uptown Girls" so that the reality television camera following them around couldn't use what they said on TV without having her buy the rights to that song. And how fucking clever is that? I can't stop thinking about it. Because DUH that means the creators of 30 ROCK had to buy the rights to "Uptown Girls" to use it on their show. I've realized that I pretty much love 30 ROCK. 
Jessie just showed me a nice purple mechanical pencil she found on the bus and had me try out the eraser she likes so much. She says, "I found it on the bus." And I immediately responded with, "Don't put it in your mouth," as she was already in the process of quickly touching it to her lips. "You know me so well." She proceeded to laugh.


I've been becoming more and more aware of just how in need of my own computer I am. Laptop, I mean. I just need to capture everything in writing, in still photo, on video. Which is hard when I am stuck at the desk at home.


Michelle's hair is cut into a fauxhawk and dyed in three sections. Two red strips, and one white in the middle. It looked like peppermint when she first did it. She came up with "Candy Cane" as her stripper name because she "only works the poles when she's on the rag." Sick. Now that her hair is fading and blending together I tell her every day it looks like bacon. I wonder what that says about her career as a food based stripper. Grease them poles boys. Grease. Them. Poles.

Finger Webbing Pulse.

Smuggling AM-inal crackers in would be harder. I'd have to fit a whole train car in my hoodie pocket.

"PLUG IN THE TOASTER!" I yelled this at myself because had I not, at this very moment I very well could still be staring straight at the toaster plug and pushing the button down again and again wondering "whattheheckiswrongwithournewshinyblacktoaster?" My toast was toasting and I got distracted by and danced around in the strange patterns of sunlight shining into our dark house through the blinds. I picked up my video camera and I've got some new footage now for a project I just now decided to start. And that feels good. Creation like that feels good.


Baby it's cold outside. And also in my house. How do I respond? Less clothing! Bloomers and a vest? Dingdingding! We have a winner! I told myself it would get me to take a shower tonight more quickly, but really it just makes me want to bundle up and nest in my own hair. But that's all I do at home anyhow. That and write shitty blogs, and look at my things, and dance around in disregard of problems. Get me some more of this cranberry/raspberry juice, and make sure you pour it in my eating disorder flower cup.


My very limited Spanish made it possible for me to understand when I watched an older couple on the bus tell a friendly stranger they'd been together for 28 years. The man kept his hand on his lady's leg until she got off before him. I realized I was mirroring him with my body, but with my hand on some green sequined fabric instead of the denim I might prefer. And when she got off I again realized we had shifted into the same position at separate times. One hand in between crossed legs. Not to close to, but close to the knee. We don't know what to do with out hands when we're alone. 


My ears are tired of listening to this. My mouth is tired of repeating and repeating.
And I just want to lay around all day - but where? With who? I think they kuh-no.

Thicker than ink.

Today we have a substitute in Senior Seminar. His name is Michael Bolton and I keep joking about him being the one that recorded the soundtrack version of "I Can Go The Distance" from Disney's HERCULES. What a prick I am. 
I'm feeling a little better than I have been the passed few days. I'm still really angry, and still in my own head too much, and not totally great. I am yet again in shock of how quickly happiness can be taken away from you. Or at least, the lengths people are willing to go to to try to make that idea a reality. 
I don't think that this particular situation is going to be around for too long. It will most likely flare up again in time, but everyone is going to have to deal with it. They will have no choice but to do so, because nothing and no one will be able to change it. 
Huzzah for cryptic blog entries. Isn't that what I'm good at? Probably not.


Here is what I want to say:
I never finished my college applications, and the deadlines are about to or have already passed. I'm not going to college in the fall. End of story. I'm not sorry about it. My grade in senior seminar might suffer because of it, but I couldn't give a shit.
After I turn 18 I will take my freedom by the horns. I will move out of the house. I will be looking for another job. I will be able to create everything I want. I will set up an online store that has the potential to fail, and if it does fail it will for a reason. I will be surrounded by people I love and who love me. I will probably make bad decisions. But I will also make the right ones. I won't always be happy, but I have control over that. Happiness is possible. And the only way I can maintain that is by doing what I want, regardless of if it's what anyone else thinks is "right" for me.