I have to go to this warehouse/farmer's market tomorrow and be all ~professional~ and ~salesman-like~, therefore I am nervous, therefore I am up way past my bedtime. I'm supposed to introduce myself to customers and tell them about how I like, paint portraits or some shit, to get them thinking before the holidays. Feel jittery and unprepared. Great thing is that once it's over, I can dash off to my friend's apartment and hide, as he lives in the building next door.

Speaking of my friend, we're kind of the Official Douchebags of Kendall. I mean, the Chair Gang. So Matt, Ben and I are sitting in the abandoned landscape painting classroom, right, in these rolly chairs. I leave for a split second to get a drink, come back and they're gone. So are the rolly chairs. I stick my head out into the hallway to hear Matt's obnoxiously loud voice shouting, "Katie! Katie! Grab a chair!!" I think, "Dear god, they cannot seriously be in the elevator." Seriously. Seriously in the elevator.

We spent the next hour glued to our rolly chairs, thundering around each and every floor, whooping and giggling like drunk toddlers. People's reactions varied wildly by floor. The third-floor printmakers cheered us on, the sixth-floor painters laughed and stared. The interior designers, whichever floor that happened to be, gave us disapproving sniffs. And then the librarian on the second floor caught sight of us and came screeching after, her love handles jiggling angrily. "We're bringing these chairs to the sixth floor!" Matt yelled. And then, as he was turning the corner, he shouted, "I'LL CUT YOU!"

It's all fun and games until someone cuts the librarian.

But, you know, we didn't. So... it was still fun and games.

( Night before last, I had a dream that I quit my job. )

I told my mom about it, and she gave me this nasty smile she puts on when she's feeling anything but amused. "Too bad you can't ever do that," she smirked. She just can't wrap her head around the concept of having a job where you work your own hours - every time I mention being tired she says something about, "Just wait until you have to get up for work at nine like everyone else," and I don't mean to sound super whiny here, but god dammit, half the reason I'm doing any of this is to make sure I never have to live a structured life like that, waking up at the same time every day and doing the exact same god damn thing and then coming home to a ~*~family~*~ like my parents seem to expect of me. It's right for some people - it is - but it's just entirely wrong for me, and makes me feel strangled and trapped. I spent an entire summer working in a factory, and I don't ever want to feel like that again. Let's not even talk about my feelings on having children.

Thing is, I often feel panic and guilt over this. People have varied reactions when I let on about these feelings, and none of them are good. "What, do you think you're better than everyone else?" "You're going to have to come to terms with reality at some point." "You'll grow out of it, this is just a selfish teenaged mindset." No, really. There are plenty of people who work their own hours; this is not an unreasonable goal. There are also plenty of people who don't "settle down" and who don't have children. There is nothing I hate more than single or childfree people being called "selfish" because they actually evaluated their situation and decided that making a person just wasn't in the cards for them. There are plenty of married-with-kids people who are just as selfish, if not more, who had kids for the wrong, wrong reason, and who are now acting superior to the people who actually looked before they leapt. We are not an endangered species, and we do not have some mystical duty to pop out babies every which way. Damn.

Yes, this post comes a week before Thanksgiving for a reason. Don't make me go to family dinner, oh god, I would rather work all weekend. And my aunt and uncle are getting divorced and I've already heard excited, gossipy whispers about "maybe there'll be a huge argument at the party" and just augh, blagh. I'm seriously considering just pretending I have homework and being That Jerk who doesn't show. I'd go and visit my grandma some other time, the rest of them can suck my spirit dick.

Okay, last 30 Rock was adorable. Back to its usual standards of brilliance. I can't decide if I want Tina Fey to be my neurotic mom, my sassy roommate, or my hot, hot, awkward lesbian lover. (And why is Alec Baldwin's voice so goddamned sexy? How can they even allow it?)

That last scene, just. ♥ ♥ ♥

Hope everyone's had a fabulous week!

I love Mitchell and Webb so much.

A couple days ago, I was having a discussion with some friends about decisions. Ben was talking in the weighted way one does when they're referring to something in specific, saying, "I think that when you stop to deliberate, it's just to reassure yourself that you've thought about it. I think that you already know which one you're going to choose, and if you change your mind after thinking and choose the 'practical' choice, you're making a mistake."

( I had to agree, to a point. )

Now I'm thirsty, and I'm still wearing my retainer, and I've avoided going upstairs long enough. There's something some philosopher said, that "hell is other people at breakfast," and damn did he know what he was talking about. Let me eat my toast in peace, dammit. >:[

So the first representative I showed my portfolio to was the head of the painting department of the San Francisco Art Institute. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm past the point where I think my work is literally all crap. I've practiced a lot, I've been trained well, and I recognize that I've got a moderate amount of technical skill. But most of the kids at MFA Portfolio Day were seniors, and had a really cohesive body of work - I had a bunch of exercises from class and a self portrait, so I felt very unprepared and nervous. Tack on to all of that the fact that this is my dream school, and that only about 40 painting grad students are accepted every year out of a large number of applicants.

( My review, asdkljsaldjasdlkas. )

Going to Chicago tomorrow for MFA Portfolio Day (kind of like a preview of applying to grad school, they've got reps from all over to take a look at your work) so I took pictures of my second self portrait this year. It's strange how just taking a picture makes the oddities instantly clear. But.

( Relatively big pictures under the cut. )

Now I'm going to bed. Love you guys. ♥

It's gonna be one of those waitressing nights where I eat a LOT of fries - I can feel it.

This post has barely begun, and it is already trying too hard not to be self-pitying and oversharing. But okay, this morning I got an email from someone I respected and cared about, telling me he was actually drunk when he asked me if I wanted to come over this weekend, and that he wanted either some no-strings-attached sex or some time to himself. Uh.

( Ramblings about the word 'should.' )

I guess I'm feeling really lonely, and gloomy, and like this event somehow mars me or makes me a less desirable person, which I know is bullshit. But when you see a pattern in some part of your life, doesn't it tend to make you wonder (what's wrong with me, will I ever get this right)?

This is why people wait outside John Darnielle's tourbus. This is why John Darnielle writes songs about great, unstable masses of blood and foam. This is why I'm going to take off some of the pressure for him when I grow up.

John John John I wanna be just like you.

Love you guys.

The Mountain Goats concert was AMAZING. My jaw hurts from SMILING LIKE A MORON FOR HOURS. I sat in the front row, and I just kept thinking, "I can't believe that's actually John Darnielle RIGHT THERE and he is playing his guitar for us." The thing about John which surprised me the most was how happy he seemed. When I listen to his music, it sounds like there's this huge well of anger from which he's drawing everything, and I'm sure there is still a well of anger (isn't there in everyone?), but yesterday I could see this manic glee that kept threatening to surface and it made me so happy inside. ♥

Also, someone yelled out "Freebird" and he almost gave us his Freebird Lecture, but didn't.

Played "Dance Music" and "This Year," for which I was super glad. Didn't play a single song off Heretic Pride. "See America Right" was wickedly awesome. Also, Final Fantasy was great, great, great, and the lead singer/violinist played along with John for a song or two. I don't remember the guy's name, but he was incredibly talented.

I WANT TO SEE THEM AGAIN TOMORROW. AND THE NEXT DAY.

Also, couple questions before I write my next post: Have you ever been contacted by someone from your childhood that you never really connected with? How did you feel about it? And have you ever been the one to initiate contact with a childhood acquaintance or non-friend?

apparently.

day before yesterday i went to bed at six pm. woke up at nine pm, my body going, "uhhhh, are you sure you want to keep sleeping?" and i responded, "yes, please," and woke up at six the next morning. somewhere along the line, i managed to remember a dream.

i was in some bizarre store (were they selling furniture? clothing? they must have been selling CDs, too, because I had three in my hand) when i fell and landed on my butt. instead of getting up immediately, i turned to look at this boy in a pea coat who was about to walk past me. in the instant i saw him, i could feel the timelines quivering around us. i knew that if we didn't interact right then it wasn't the end - we might meet each other later - but if we did have a conversation, we would end up happy together for the rest of our lives.

he looked like a combination of boys i've dated, and boys i've known. i laughed a little at myself, sprawled out on the floor clutching my CDs, and the boy in the pea coat stopped and caught my eye. i could tell he knew. he broke out into a smile, expressed a similar music taste, and i don't remember how it ended up but i woke up thinking, "finally."

reading you people's entries sometimes makes me nostalgic.

nnnnnnnnneeeeerrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh. what a year. ♥

anyway, so i never really understood why people bought expensive paint brushes. why would you pay thirty-something for a single brush when you could pay one-fifty? well, there was a 50% sale, so i splurged on one red-black, "natural bristle" extravaganza and oh my gosh you guys. i get it now - it's incredible. strokes that would have looked heavy-handed and awkward with my shitty hog's hair look just effortlessly great, and it holds ten times as much paint, and i want to go buy five more, but budget. :S

[/infomercial]

am really proud of my self-portrait. it's sitting next to my self-portrait from last year, which i was also really proud of, except now i can see all the flaws in it. it's really nice to know i've improved, and it's really nice to actually feel proud, because it's not a common thing for me to feel.

also: TWO MORE DAYS TIL THE MOUNTAIN GOATS!!!! :DDDDDDDD

the drawback of trying to have friends (few though they are) is inevitably having to disappoint them.

the way i see it is this: if i am working a shitty job for not-enough-an-hour to pay for school out of my own pocket, and if the only reason i can do that is because i have been given scholarships that will get taken away if my grades are not spot-on perfect, and if the whole reason i am doing any of this at all is because i want (have to) learn how to paint, then....

then yeah, i'm going to have to be "busy" sometimes. i want to go to their gigs, and their parties, and their taco boy wine adventures, and i sincerely enjoy their company. but when it comes down to it, they will always come second. you really can't have it all.

so does anyone else face these conundrums? yes it is halloween, and i really want to go out tonight, because this is the one night in a long stretch that everyone's out having fun at the same time and there's this weirdly cool togetherness? but i have to finish this painting for monday, and i work at ass-in-the-morning, and my brain is just fried because i haven't slept in weeks and compulsively ate my way through a whole grocery store of sin.

i feel forty, you guys. i don't like ditching my friends to be "responsible," and i wish people didn't see it as a snobby thing to do. no matter how many times i say "seriously, guys, i seriously like you, it's just...." maybe this is why i listen to fall out boy - it reminds me of my youth. :|

( Here's how much I like arrogant artists. )

Okay but here's what's really going on:



I'M GOING TO SEE THIS MAN IN NINE DAYS. NINE DAYS!!! \o/ God I've got the shivers already.

It's called "Take Advantage of My Lower Standards," and I think this guy is the sanest person on craigslist.

It starts: Are you tired of all those other men who expect an emotional connection? Are you fed up with wasting all your precious time building a rapport before he gives in and sleeps with you? Well, listen up, because I have got a deal for you! For the next 60 minutes, I'll be offering a complete package that's including my full attention, conversation, and uninterrupted alcohol-facilitated sexual contact followed by a late-night cab ride to my place at no cost to you in exchange for only two drinks and an inquiry into how my night is going. This is the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have your lazy eye and bad breath ignored that you can't afford to miss!

Will write about the Chicago art museum later. Think I got written up today for calling in sick to work and not having a doctor's note (oh lawd), but I'm not too bothered - even more incentive to get out and find me real job.

What do we think about this, guys?

Marry Him!, "the case for settling for Mr. Good Enough," by Lori Gottlieb.

This was written last year, but I'm just now finding it, and wow do I have creepy-crawlies. For one, why is this woman assuming every female will want to have that typical "nuclear family" "sticky Cheerios" "children" "um" "children" scenario in their future? Is it really that unfeasible that a woman could actually find more happiness in her career than having a family? (God, just the word "family" makes me shudder like I just got my elbow licked by an 80-year-old male stripper.) I mean, I know there are hormones, but I'm not shitting you, if at 35 they're going to kick in and suddenly painting's going to be secondary to this rabid, animalistic drive of "oh my god I must conceive," um, I'm having that shit removed.

You can quote me on that. :|

I'm not even gonna touch the rest. But you can! :D

ETA: Have a quote! Chris believes that women are far too picky: everyone knows, he says, that a single middle-aged man still has appealing prospects; a single middle-aged woman likely doesn’t. And he’s right. Single women are painfully aware of this.

Wwwwwwwwwooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww now someone's asking for a punch in the jaw.

Decision was made for me because the blue one disappeared.

( Pichers of an intensely yellow coat and me and my tiny studio. )

So yesterday I get home, eat a third/fourth/fifth dinner, whatever, sit down and check my email and scrunch up my face thinking, "why on earth are there so many 'such and such replied to your entry'?? What entry?"

Ohhhhh. I can't believe I got the syllables right for a haiku, I'm kind of impressed. We ended up watching a documentary about Hopper, no lie, and laughing about how old he was (?!?!?!?). D: XD

I love you guys.

ETA: Those jalapeno peppers you get on your sandwiches at Quizno's and the ones you buy at the grocery store? Yeah, not the same thing. Not even close.

ben's shoe is in my
line of sight oh my god um
okay yeah okay

qw'ew listening to of montreal okay bitches


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