early morn rockin.

I woke up at exactly 8am this morning without an alarm clock...I haven't done that since, forever? I totally forgot what it felt like to get up out of bed and stumble to get around because you're still waking up. Normally, I just sleep and lie in bed and get up whenever...totally bummy, I know, I know.
So, I'm at the old joint to clean up a bit and get the rest of the shit that I left behind...mainly just all of my plants and my williams-sonoma spatula. I was kind of bummed that I had to come over here, cause I just abandoned my sweet parking space in the city. I haven't really cleaned anything in the hour that I've been here...I made a sandwich with their food, took a shit and checked my email.
I have to run errands while I'm out here. I need a plunger. The Trin's toilet is retarded: the bowl fills up with water, but there's no suckage down the drainage, so your excrement just kinda swirl around, and then very slowly, the water recedes. Gross?...indeed. My theory is: one of the maintence crew took a wicked dump on his lunch break, and clogged the brand new piece...either him, or my real estate agent, because he told me he stopped by one day and the workers weren't in there.

I was so stoked last nite because I got to watch comedy central for the first time in almost a year...and 3 hours of Chapelle's Show, yeah, that's great.

Billie called yesterday, after her first segment was filmed and when Patrick was getting the makeover. She said it was all totally gay and fake...and that the host is a complete douche. They had to go to the bar and get a few drinks in them before they were ready to make complete asses of themselves in front of the camera...I don't blame them. It's gonna be totally weird to see them portrayed fakely on television...yet I know I'm going to get a laugh or three out of it.

I'll stop stalling now.

we've lasted long enough.

Um, yeah, that gun shot was like right outside. Glad I'm moving.

rooftop gamblers.

I started moving into the Trin today. I only got to make one trip of boxes before it started to rain.
I met Kelly, the neighbor that I let move into the original trin. She seemed nice enough, and told me that she's getting free cable and that I could probably get it too, cause the wires in her basement have a splitter that's running into my place. I said, "rad."
I was totally bitching to myself about how small my bedroom and closet were compared to Kelly's. And then I was wondering if the attic space was useable, so I thought I'd check it out. I climbed the stairs that take up prime bedroom space and un-did the latches. I pushed up on the hatch which was heavy as shit, but I could see light from the cracks so I was even more determined to check it out. I put my fucking shoulders into it and lifted open the hatch...and almost instantly, I was sold. So what if the place is smaller?...I'm the only one who has access to the rooftop. It's awesome. The building next to me has this swank deck, and some people have chairs. It's sweet. I'm so gonna have to lay down some astroturf.
I'm totally stoked now.

Billie called me today...they're filming the Ambush Makeover segment on Sunday. She's gonna call me after it goes down.

damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

I've been watching movies for the past couple of days. I just sit on my bed and watch dvd's back to back on my computer...I'm running out of movies.
There was this part in Office Space that really made me laugh. It was one of those laugh because it's not really funny scenes.
So after that was over, I needed to buy some camels, so I went out and did that, then I said to myself, "I'm gonna go to Center City." And as I was driving down Broad, my real estate agent calls while I'm in the middle of rocking out to some ween. Talk about having a good impulse plan that didn't, in the end, blow up my face.
I got my key. Nice.
I was actually a little disappointed that the Trin is smaller than the original one that I was supposed to move into. In the words of Tonie, "boo." My karma that I earned for giving it away better fucking pay off in the future.
But all in all, it's rad...it'll be rocking once I get everything moved in and cleaned up.
Shit, I gotta go pay some bitch five dollars. Clownie's out, bitches.

cannibalistic cravings.

Dude, getting stood up by your real estate agent is bogus. "That's bullshit!!...this is bullshit!!!...oh my god, this is total bullshit!!!" -MadTV
Oh well, dude is perhaps the most unorganized professional ever. I ain't mad at him...but homeboy better call me tomorrow, cause I'm not wasting my prepaid minutes on his ass.

tell me what to say.

The Trinity is so close I can taste it...mmm, lead paint.

I haven't talked to anyone lately...and by anyone, I mean my parents, sisters and friends. Okay, I take that back, Roxanne called a few days ago at 6:30am to see if she woke me. I don't really remember much of the conversation because I was half asleep...I do remember her telling me about her teeth and how white they are.
I don't even remember when the last time I talked to Rusty was...sometimes, I just have to wait for him to get in touch with me. I just hope he's not getting his ass into any trouble with the three d's: drugs, dudes and Dallas. I avoid calling Billie, because I always have to deal with getting past the Drunken Irish first. And my parents, well, I should call them but sometimes I just don't feel like dealing with my mom asking me if I found a job yet, and then her telling me that I'll have to move back home if nothing comes up.
I kind of just want to talk to someone...and by someone, I mean anyone. I wanna talk about stupid shit. I wanna talk with silence. I wanna talk in laughs. Over burgers and fries, with cigarettes on the side. Yeah, I miss the comradeship of those days...god, I miss those sinful burgers from Port of Call...crazy pirate taverns=delicious.
I talk to myself in my head a lot. Sometimes I make up characters and conversations. Two universes are constantly at battle.
Someone once said that some people are just meant to be lonely. When I first heard that, I believed it. Now, I really don't want to believe it.

waxing the joint.

Eh, I forced myself to do chores and go out and run errands today so I could soothe out the hurtin' hip. It actually worked. I guess going to the bank, picking up some camels and then aimlessly walking around in Target and Best Buy cures all. And since I got this fly faux-twill tweed blazer, yeah that made me feel better as well...although when I got home, I noticed the ripped seam that I'll have to sew cause I ripped off the tag as soon as it was out of the bag.

For some odd reason, I've been jonesin to hear some pj harvey...weird. Wonder how her new album is.
Oh well, I'm gonna be a dork and just listen to some spiral stairs and jeff tweedy shit. Nothing else to do with my day, except feel like an urban cowboy...hoo-haw!
Maybe I'll even watch Bill and Ted.

she's a hip, hip lady.

Oh my god...I feel like I'm an eighty-year old, osteoporotic woman. I totally pulled some bogus move that caused the muscles around my hips, especially the right side, to feel like they're sprained. That pain added on with my consistent I've-had-back-problems-since-I-can-remember pain makes me feel extremely old.
I so wasn't doing any break dancing either; I was just hanging out with The Jew on Kelly Drive, and I don't know, my hips went out. That was the most excruciating three miles of my life. But through it all, I still had that, "no, dude, I'll be fine" attitude.
Pain (and I'm definitely not talking about the hot, erotic pleasure kind...which I'm aching for)is what happens to people when they're indentured servants all throughout their childhood...and this is the one thing I do blame my mother for, but whatever, I still love the lady.

I need a massage...like hardcore. Maybe I should drink more milk, as gross as it is.

And gross, I just sneezed and totally sprayed my left arm with spit mist...nice. Out of smokes...real nice. Crap, and I gotta haul heavy shit at the end of this week. I wish I had a "special hammock" that spins out clones of myself whenever I jump onto it.

path of least resistence.

"...he walked slowly ahead, as if paying homage to the past."

Yeah, I like that...it's perfect.

it's not you, it's me.

...I love that phrase, simply because it's sums everything up rather nicely. I use it a lot to cover my tracks; so no one knows where I've been, or what I'm going through.
I don't know what happened, really. One minute I'm fine, happy as humanly possibly, at least for the likes of me, and then suddenly I was hit with this intense bumminess that lasted all throughout the evening and the following day. When I put the symptoms together, I realized what it was. Yeah, it really fuckin got to me, too. I was pitiful: feeling sorry for myself like a whiney bitch...but I justified it with, "dude, I deserve to cry, that shit sucks."
I really, really want to let it go, but something that changed my entire world, is kind of hard to forget. I guess the only way to let it go would be to prove them, and myself wrong about all those half-baked theories...I'm halfway there already.
It's been a year, man, that's nuts. And looking back at that time frame; knowing what I know now after that incident, it all seems so silly...but it was inevitable. Maybe it's some sort of rite of passage for mental evolution. Who knows?
So, for the time being, I'm over it. Honestly, I'll never be truely over it, and I'm sure it'll happen again, but for now, it's going back into the far reaches of my brain's library. Next year probably won't be so bad now that the initial wave has surfaced. I just gotta keep on truckin'...and try not to get lost like that again.

see, what'd I tell you?

...and you know that dream I had about my real estate agent like 9 hours ago, yeah I totally hear from him this afternoon telling me that the Trinity is completely done with renovations. 
Now tell me that dreams don't have anything to do with the future...ha-HA! (that should so be read like how it's done in SpeedRacer...ha-HA!!)

hit the pavement...running.

Gross...I woke up in the middle of my sleep while having this weird dream about a phone call from some random who got my number from my real estate agent. I had this acrid taste in the middle of my throat. It felt like I had to vomit. It tastes like I have to vomit. You know, all I really want these days is one night of total sleep...none of this not falling asleep until 5 a.m. stuff, and definitely no more of this horrid waking up in the middle of what could've been a decent sleep. Totally bogus.
Aside from that, my dreams have been wicked hardcore lately. I'm talking, always waking up like right when I'm about to die. It's funny how my brain never lets me see myself dead...it's better that way, but I think the reflex to wake a person up when they've just about had it is an awesome ability, and it just goes to show that you are your brain, and it's so protecting itself from danger. And because I believe that dreams are somehow connected to the eventual path in life, I'm assuming that you never see yourself die because then there's that slight possiblity of deja vous...and then ah-ha, you're dead. I think dreams, no matter how farfetched they are (...think metaphorically), do indeed reveal a series of events that will occur at some point in your life. I know that I've dreamt about someone before I ever met them, and when I did, it seemed like I've known them for years. I've definitely also seen landscapes in my dreams, and when I travel or just walk down the street, I'll say to myself, "it seems like I've been here before," or I'll say, "wasn't I just here yesterday, running this exact same errand?"
Assuming there's a science behind contingency mesmerizes me. There must be some set plan in life for everyone, locked deep within some inner sanction of our brain. And dreams are sort of like these latent clues for moving forward in solving this big mystery; sometimes what we're given seems obvious, sometimes it's not. Me, waking up right before the inevitable death blow is a slap in the face from my brain telling me that that shit ain't going down in real time, and in the event that it does, I have a heads up as to what to expect in order to get out of it. The brain definitely has an appointment to be somewhere; as bodies, we're just the transportation.

testimonial: you made me float

He's been crypticly popping up here and there, and with those strange incidents of conversation, he's been sparking memories that I was repressing...because yeah, who wants to remember great nites that make them sad?
He's still the same old schmoe: indifferent, bitterish, aloof, absurd and coy. He is the one that got away. I'm glad we're still friends. It seems he doesn't let too many into his life like how he let me in. He makes me smile. I make him nervous. He makes me nervous.

That nite, in your room, yeah, I never apologised for passing out, then taking up the entire bed when you got up in the middle of the nite, and because you didn't want to disturb me, you slept on the floor until I woke up and invited you back into your own bed...sorry 'bout that. I think that nite is one of my favorite nites in history...because you made me feel stellar.

it was all a flimflam sham.

Turns out, I'm better than that. It's definitely over-rated. So you can eat my ass, cause I'm over it...ya, bitches.

Emo boys and girls scare me...not because they're threatening, but because they remind me a little of Night of the Living Dead 2...the sequel from the late 80's/early 90's with the punk kids. Which in a sense is semithreatening, because they're like an army of self-proclaimed emotionally, dead-on-the-inside dickwads. They're one in the same, and it's kind of hard to tell them apart. The males are like eunuchs; the females have too much eye makeup. They freak me out. They're definitely over-rated. Mass production has taken over personalities. And no, you're not original, even though you try.
Being yourself is definitely under-rated. Having your own personal style is definitely missed. I definitely have no one to impress. I'm just gonna be myself. Fuck everyone, I'm over it.

leave the skeletons where they fell.

Happy independence day to me. Hardy har hargh. It's no fun without fireworks and a barbeque. And honestly, it's no fun when my only friends in the greater philadelphia area have gone off to do things with their dudes. I should've gone south for the summer: I could've had some tennessee fire and could've gone to a crawfish boil.
I'll end up spending the day reading, which isn't totally bad, just totally lame.
So yesterday, I went to Wissahickon park and took like a 4+ hour hike. I felt mentally bummy when I got there, but I needed some fresh air to clear the air. I just needed some sort of conclusion to go with the end. And although I don't really think that I've reached one, at least I have a better understanding of how it might be done.
Maybe I've been looking at it all the wrong way. Maybe it'll be better this way. If I am right, I won't end up totally pigeoned, and nothing will have to be revealed.

...there's nothing in there. 

the aesthetics of her.

I never really understood how people could like me, as a friend, or as a lover. Eventually, all my friends seem to disappear, only those that have known me for years have stuck around, but even so, I hardly ever see them because like myself, they left Louisiana and moved on to different states. I maybe see them once every other year.
And lovers...ha. I don't think a string of one nite stands actually constitutes as having a lover. And really, I only started dating less than two years ago because I made this external transformation by deciding to control my weight, and suddenly dudes are noticing me when I never used to be worth their time...which kind of makes me uncomfortable, flattered and pissed all at the same time.
And so, I think the whole aesthetic of me is that I'm unattached to everything. Some things just don't phase me...which probably has something to do with my inability to feel emotion...kidding. I'm never really angry at people when they leave, because I know that I wasn't the one who left. The door is always open.

the thing about that.

I really don't know what to make of it all: I graduated, I'm jobless, I'm moving apartments this month, I miss everything that I once had, I miss everything that I've never really had...and I just feel like I try so hard to make everything right or to make everyone happy, and in the end, I never get the kind of motivation and advice I give in return.
I hate being there for other people and having to listen to their problems, when no one cares enough to do the same for me. And in that rare moment when someone gives a fuck enough to listen, I can't say anything because now I have this complex about saying how I feel, because I'm so used to hashing out theories about how they feel about their retarded problems. It's never been about me. People are bogus: self indulgent and no compassion. Don't they see the deadness in my eyes? I'm not a fucking messiah; I'll answer your questions to the best of my knowledge and I'll give you the best advice I can muster, but geezus christ, use some common sense. And it's kind of ironic that they ask me about boyfriends and relationships when I've never had either.
I'm just bitter. After this, I'll go back to being the same old Leslie, who gives advice and is sympathetic, because I can't not. I'm not a mean person. And I'll do those things, because I'd want someone to do the same for me.