it's official: i'm head over heels for brmc's new albumn. i gave my world the spree, and we danced; we sang along; we walked in silly elation. i was so overwhelmed with loving them that it was only natural to desire the same fulfilment for everyone i knew. and now 'howl' comes along and so has that familar feeling. as jon has already proclaimed, "it's gorgeous". good god, it's more than that: it's friggin brilliant, it's down right perfect. today is my birthday. buy yourself howl, as a gift to me.

at a posie show in september an april boy told me about a band i should have known about long junes ago. early this morning i found this song on an ipod. how lovely.

Big Star - September Gurls

September gurls do so much
I was your butch and you were touched
I loved you well never mind
I've been crying all the time
December boys got it bad.
September gurls I don't know why
how can I deny what's inside
even thought I keep away
maybe we'll love all our days.
When I get to bed late at night
that's the time she makes things right
ooh when she makes luv to me.

what a day! me and dandy are going out for fried chicken. how's that for a pre-celebration?!?

yes, this binge train is still going at full speed. the show last night was fantastic. a little bit of raspberry vodka and soda, a little bit of smiling faces, a little bit of bright lights, a little bit of musical bewitchment, and a lot of friggin fun.

and now it's raining!!! i love this day already.

binge mode

leaving the bar at 2:10am, going out after work, getting high in the middle of the day...these are things i'm not really known for; these are things i hardly ever indulge in, and yet, recently, i'm the poster child. it's 4am and i'm still awake. perhaps it has something to do with being temporarily displaced. but more than anything, it's mostly just pure social gluttony. i know this sort of behavior all to well. back in my dieting days this was my staple: no refined sugar, hydrogenated, or processed food for an entire month, and 45 minutes of cardio every day; this sort of self-totalitarianism was preceded by (and by preceded I mean till the second before resolution was to start) feasts of junk.

not that moving to oregon is some sort of form of resolution. revolution, perhaps. however, there is a thread of similarity and continuity between the two, and there is the 'desired compensation from sacrifice' element in the both. my main reason for moving to oregon is painstakingly natural: love. the other reasons are just as postive and beneficial. for instance, to projectile myself out of a rut. dallas is great, and blah,blah,blah...but, the fact remains- dallas has served no greater good for my once innocent and genuine ambitions, ardor, and dreams. i'm stifled here. not to mention, the overall state of well being that will be gleaned by moving to a part of the country that is extremely focused on a healthy and natural way of life. yes, i'm excited about living somewhere i don't have to drive 10 minutes away in order to recycle. in oregon i'll have the chance to step forward: school, the motivation(and time) to refine a skill, opportunity to do something besides waiting tables (if i should want), and someone for me to be there for and have there for me; someone to encourage and be an encouragement for; someone i love.

tomorrow night centromatic and deep blue something play at the granada, sunday night the spree are playing, sunday i'm having brunch with a friend in from the big A, monday night is my bowling b'day party, this coming up weeknd my parents are here, engagement party on sunday, leave wednesday.

i'm going out in bang folks.

here lies the challenge: the momentous task of catergorizing; of deciding; writing. really, when was the last time i wrote an entry of introspective and informative value? rhertorically, too long now to pick back up the allegorical torch and attempt a sprint around the track.

michelle is lying on the bed with my childhood cat, clover. we're in corpus christi visiting my parents. for me, this will be the last time i'll be down here till christmas. in 15 days the adventure begins. my belongings wait in a storage space, i've put in my two week notice, going away parties are being planned, and the thought of goodbye tears up my eyes.

still not too many people know about the move. just a few weeks ago i broke the news to my parents, just two weeks ago i tolled my boss and my co-workers, and just last night i wrote an email to an old friend about it all. in past plans it never panned out, and in the aftermaths i would feel like a talltale teller. first there was london. i was to transfer with the four seasons but after arranging everything with hr i realized how difficult it was to recieve a visa. then there was romania. i had issues corresponding with the lady who offered to host me. finally after numerous letters and emails i gave up. then there was austin. again with the four seasons. i can't remember what went awry with that effort but something in true anti-missie fashion did. colorado. bust. austin. i did it; i drove back every weekend to work because i couldn't find a job there. a few days after i broke my sublease and quit school, the four seasons and gingerman called me to tell me the finally had openings and, both, offered me a job. but it was a week to late to put in reverse the resolutions in motion. i had finally given up; i faced the cards life had delt me and had decided it wasn't that bad. dallas wasn't that bad.

now here we are- oregon bound. and this time around i have a traveling companion-jon. we have a plan, we have reasons, we have eachother.

my father is leaving for work and now michelle is asking me if i'll go to blockbuster with her. our time here has been well spent: body surfing notable gulf sized waves, bowling, my mothers deliciuos and healthy cooking, scrabble at the coffee shop, and, for myself, half of freakonomics read. but now, now, it's time to snuggle up on the sofa and let the night usher in the morning.

seven months ago when we moved in, tiff and i both aggreed our quasi-uptown apartment was both a. too nice, and, b. too big for we lakewood/little forrest hills post-residents. but with the end o' lease approaching and my life partner now claiming the down under home sweet home, i thought it to be a good idea to begin the de-clustering process. 9 winter coats. 3 of which are mine. 5 of which tiff left behind. 1 of which is taylors. how did that happen?!? where once i cringed at the nakedness of my solarium i know take pride in it's coziness: it's daisies on the table, it's picasso print on the wall.

times up, maybe next time.

(barely) 6 feet under:

on the side of caution, all drunk/broken hearted/venting/vexxing/cheating/lying bloggers hope. hello little way back machine. ugh.

amazingly, so many of you are still here...well, at least that is so many of you are still out here. just half a hour ago jon and i talking about our bewilderment of magazines dedicated to online/interactive games; on how someone can get so immersed into something so seemingly unimportant. there are monthly magazines whose sole premise is birds, model airplanes, and automobiles. i've come to understand o.c.d is the "norm"; but in a society over-saturated with Ritalin, how is that plausible. it's safe to assume, for a self-diagnosis, that i might have a slight, and by slight i mean hopeless and detrimental to the happiness of my future, case of a.d.d. and as someone self-diagnosed with a.d.d i can't imagine ever reaching a point with one of my hobbies in which i assert such energy as to read monthly publications pertaining to it. my attention span begs me to instead: work-out, re-organize my cd collection, scrub the bathtub, read a few chapters in a book i'll never finish, plan the next days itinerary, calculate my monthly projected finances if i were to cease from eating out every single day, watch the news, watch seinfeld, watch trl, hate trl, this, and that. so it's a mystery, but i can't focus long enough on it to figure it out. and for the record, i hope one reading this does not come to ascertain that by coextending my amazement with the longevity of certain blogs to the conversation concerning generation o.a.c.d.a.d that i'm implying such bloggers are as paradoxical or overly fixated on that which is unimportant, because as any good *bleader knows, there is more substance out here than here.

after seven tired and hungry hours in jfk i thought i had learned my lesson. the plane was to depart at 7am. michelle was to pick me up at 6am. i was to wake up at 5:55am, just one hour prior had i closed my eyes. i had worked 14 something hours and was beat; i had written down days before what was to be packed, and in my sleep deprevation, packed it all. i was and i did do it all. at 5:55am i woke up and angrily rolled myself out of bed and to the bathroom--brushed my teeth then hissed at my reflection. michelle arrived in good spirits and with coffee. i hastily gathered the remaining items and we darted out the door into the gradual glowing morning.

tbc...

no, this isn't blogger burn out; and yes, i am writing without thinking about what i am writing--regardless of punctuation, substance, and style. i hardly have the time to read, anything. not blogs, not books, not the paper, not even the writing on the wall. which makes me feel crazy and empty, or maybe it's the emptiness makes me feel crazy, or, maybe it's the craziness that makes me feel empty. just functioning and playing all empty and crazy; knowing it's more serious than i take it, and blaming it on the fact i haven't touched a paperback in just as long as the last time i felt a hardback. everything is out of whack: priorities, goals, bills, my day planner, my closet, and the living room...total chaos. stretched so thin by expectations and "lifestyle". i'm ready for the northwest.

todays horoscope for we virgos:

Eclipse number two has arrived -- and with it, the urge to say exactly what's on your mind. Now, since you can expect rather odd and coincidental occurrences over the course of the day, it's a given that what you'll be saying will be a bit over the top -- at least to dear ones who aren't used to seeing you in this 'condition.' Don't even try to hold anything back, though. It's your turn to let go. Big time. They'll get over it.

and that's just the half of it...

i wasn't kidding:

tonight at nokia live

now, where to find a black wig and a pair of converse tennies?

having to pee. having to pee so badly i might not make it to the bathroom if i were to try. but this right here, this pussiant display of self vs self, this is self-control; and probably a sure fire way to develop a bladder infection as well. my roommate hurt her back, so i, the self-less, kind-hearted, and ambulatory roommate, has post-poned my daily itenary in order to drive my own little miss daisy to school for a very important meeting with the school's president. afterall, it was she and taylor who picked me up from the airport at 5am just a few days ago.

for the ride home

'Termite guts can save the planet,' says Nobel laureate:

"The way termite guts process food could teach scientists how to produce pollution-free energy and help solve the world's imminent energy crisis. Speaking at the Institute of Physics conference Physics 2005 in Warwick today, Nobel laureate Steven Chu urged scientists to turn their attention to finding an environmentally friendly form of fuel. In an impassioned plea to some of the world's brightest minds, he explained how he's leading by example, and encouraged others to join the effort which "may already be too late."
Chu, who shared the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1997, has begun studying termite guts – one place in nature where a key hurdle for carbon-neutral energy supply has already been solved. Termite guts take indigestible cellulose, which makes up the bulk of all plant material grown on earth, and convert it to ethanol, which even today is a versatile and popular fuel.
Chu described how he decided to leave the richly-funded precincts of Stanford University to become Director of the Lawrence Berkeley Labs to kick-start the effort. He has been cajoling his new colleagues, including 56 members of the prestigious National Academy of Sciences, to realise the gravity of the problem and shift the focus of their research. And, he says, it's beginning to work.
The US already subsidises farmers to grow corn to turn into ethanol, but $7bn in the past decade has been wasted because the process isn't carbon-neutral. "From the point of view of the environment," explains Chu, "it would be better if we just burnt oil."
"But carbon-neutral energy sources are achievable. A world population of 9 billion, the predicted peak in population, could be fed with less than one third of the planet's cultivable land area. Some of the rest could be dedicated to growing crops for energy. But the majority of all plant matter is cellulose – a solid, low-grade fuel about as futuristic as burning wood. If scientists can convert cellulose into liquid fuels like ethanol, the world's energy supply and storage problems could both be solved at a stroke."
This is where the termite guts come in. A billion years of evolution have produced a highly efficient factory for turning cellulose into ethanol, unlike anything which humans can yet design. By exploiting these tricks, says Chu, we can use biology as a solution to a pressing world problem.
Nuclear fission may be the holy grail, but in the 50 years since it was first proposed, the predicted time-to-market has grown ever more distant. Solar and wind power look appealing, but mankind has not yet discovered how to store electricity on a large scale. Ethanol – a chemical fuel which would release no more carbon than it took to produce, would be the solution.
Immense funding is made available to cure the "diseases of rich people" such as cancer and heart disease, says Chu. "If we can't cure cancer in 50 years," he says, "it will be tragic but life will go on. But if we can't develop carbon-neutral fuel sources, life will change for everyone."

wishing i was still there:

now we're rolling

man can not live on peanut butter alone-though i wish he/me could. during the course of a typical day, it is safe to assume, that i consume 5-7 tablespoons of it: for breakfast, for snacking, and late at night as a post-dinner meal. i leave lunch and dinner #1 open for other sources of nutrition- a smoothie if i think i might be getting ill, or i just need to feel extra healthy; one of those vegatarian enchilida microwavable contrapictions; a cheese burger and fries from Jakks; or, something just totally off the radar if i've over done it with the above mentioned. i'm a creature of repitition. but this morning, an errant spirit came over me, and i, while the coffee brewed and the waffles toasted, i got out the butter, honey, and mixed berries. crazy, i know. being still early and blonde to the root, the precaution in checking to see if the neglected butter was still good or not went right over my head. as i sat on the living room floor with tiff watching either the weather channel or cnn(i can't really recall. we watch both.) and enjoying my colorful breakfast, i realized that something was wrong. and that something was my waffle.

waiting to throw up,
missie rose

i'm sitting here at the mecca of yuppieville: the smu bookstore, and looking around i'm wondering-when did everyone, and i mean everyone, become so cool? so avant garde with fashion and poise? the dresses over jeans...just another staple of the urban outfitters sub-culture, the cuffed jeans with mary jeans...just another basic dressing essential of a soriety girl shopping in between classes, the over-sized sunglasses that years ago i was scoffed and teased for...now, "what's hot". for nearly three years i have kindly stood by and watched my aberrance of style become a costume of cool for post-abercrombie and doonie and burke kiddies. i thought this fad would pass-that soon enough i could go back to the way things were: the style i so deviously stole from the danes and my russian. but three years later, at a bookstore for spoiled squares, i see it's much more worse than i thought.

it wouldn't be so appalling if the taint of poser wasn't so overt in intention, and i probably wouldn't be ranting like some pious elitist of cool if i too could afford every fad-but then again, who knows-maybe i would.

i know i don't mind that the once underground world of blogging is now made into newspaper's columns of interest, or that the once pride in being involved in something new and cutting edege has been exploited by many of those in the media in hope to compensate for trailing so far behind.

i don't mind that zach braff made a quirky-not-really-indie-trying-too-hard-to-be-poignant film that spoon fed the masses bands such as the shins and postal service because i liked that cheesy ass film and witnessing publicity for bands that deserve to have mtv show case their crib over 50 cent's.

i don't mind shows like the OC who do the same week after week because, again, i like that show and i like the thought of sales rising for bands who deserve to be known by more than a handful of other artists, the guys in the record store, and the musically apt.

and with all that stated, the funny thing is that i really like ashlee simpson.

first attempt in writing: not so good.

....hours later

not to sure if things are looking better for round 2 either.

feeling: unsatisfied

the incessatiable me. the terminally hopeless bad speller. the girl with a smirk, with a doppey gaze, with a sparkle in her eyes, with a tear in her smile; the over dramatic, verbum sap!

i'm wanting, seriously debating, on delaying other tax return purchases for a digital camera. just thinking of all the fun that could be had. or all the fun that could be had in oregon, another purchase of debate. and yes, i debate. it's that feeling of being unsatisfied, maybe moreso and plainly put, a tad bit flummoxed with the end of scene.

i waited to hear, i wanted to hear, but nothing was said. strong and beautiful feelings over come with silence; years of emoutional silence, with eyes wide open. i struggle with the reality-with understanding, knowing but neverless, wanting. so very intensly, wanting to hear- needing to cease from assuming, one way or another, an audible tangability. if that's even a real word-if that even makes any sense or not.

so here, in the paranoi of the void, my mind begins to drift, and i cringe for safety and stability. even with these not real words, i am cringing-teeth grinding, "do i stay or do i go?". and if i stay, or if he follows, or if i go, can the unsaid now be natural? is inquiring in and of itself an ansewer in and of itself? or perhaps it is ensuring what is already assumed in optomism.

"so trivial", i tell myself, "i know."but being smart. what about being smart. moving across the country for the, merely, percieved plausible? i can not, or as the case will probably be, i should not move for that which is more hypothetical than it is substantial. and that i derive from the silence.

not without a fight!

verbum sap: enough said-used to indicate that something left unsaid may or should be inferred; word to the wise.

that one is most definately going on the fridge tomorrow for our word of the day. we thought that pills and cabernet would add something-or so, i thought i would medicate myself, open the bottle of red, set the mood, slip out of the room and into my bed, letting the gods of vino and sparklehorse work their magic in the living room. time will tell but i'm dying to know. wake up sleepy head, wake up!!!

being a morning person is such a curse.

a-ha, she's calling now.

enjoy sxsw, friends.