rockets fall on rocket falls
So my friend calls me the other night, right, but not to talk - really.
"Michaela, I need you to resolve an argument. We're talking about felatio."
This is how the conversation starts. I generally take pleasure from when my friends call me for resolution, absolution, and other help. But this is just funny.
All my sex-having friends are shaking their heads at their silly little virgin friend. What does she know?
She doesn't even put out.
the hardest thing you ever gave away is the hardest thing to keep, I am everything you wanted, I am everything you need, but I can feel empty
Good thing, though, because if I did I totally would be regretting sleeping with Kasey. Because I bet it would have been really good sex. He wore me out without it. See, this is what I'm saving myself from: regret.
But I digress.
My friend calls me not to ask how my new life is forming, but to inquire about felatio. Then it's all made clear: the object of the inquiry is not to probe my skills in oral pleasure, but to understand the proper past-tense verb-form.
felated
not felatiated
Glad I could help. Good to be a linguist.
So I had my first day of school today, and I loved it. I have four classes: phonology, syntax, the brain and cognition, and philisophical foundations of cognitive science. My professors are blind, Japanese, German, and Brittish, respectively.
As if German accents aren't irritating enough, too, this man has a latteral lisp. He talks like he has a mouth full of mashed potatoes. Or something like that. Sorry, the felatio conversation is still knocking around in my head.
Every where I go people talk to me, too. They just confidently approach me, ask to sit with me, walk with me, and so forth. The majority of these people are raging nerds. And I use this word in it's classical form of "person wearing a fanny-pack". But let me repeat the word "confidently" because that really is the descriptor which fascinates me more than how these people accessorize. In truth, these raging nerds are far more confident of approaching an obviously trendy lass like myself than are many socially-adept hipsters I've known.
The rock'n'roll creedo of the lack of feeling understood can become tiresome, and when people simply are NOT cool they also become unconcerned with what people think. Perhaps it's the "nothing left to lose" mentality.
I find it charming, honestly.
changing your image and attitude won't bring him back into your bedroom... he's unresponsive 'cause you're irresponsible
So I'm listening to a compilation I'm making for someone who doesn't really pay much attention to lyrics because he's too concerned with musical integrity. The compilation is my idea of what songs represent the qualities of both, and as I now listen to some of the songs I'm considering I realize that it's making me sad.
It is rare that a compilation makes me happy, actually. I made cd's for Mikaela, Krissy, Bethany, Daniel, Matthew, Stuart, Tara... maybe others, and they all make me ache. Nick's cd moves me, too, but it still makes me smile, because the theme was to smile, and so I selected musical pieces over lyrical ones.
I generally only make compilations of songs that have lyrical significance, in one way or more. Songs with lyrical significance make me want to cry. Something about the perfect poetry of such songs as I find moving is painfully beautiful to me.
Even songs like November Rain get me sometimes.
The poetry I love to read is that which I read the most seldom.
I could listen to the Rolling Stones and not feel like crying, but when Beast of Burden hits in the middle of a good compilation it just makes my chest heave.
grace is a gift for the fallen, dear, you're an angry blade and you're brave but you're all alone
So, anyway, I live by myself, and lie down on my goose-down sofa with this lovely DELL on my lap each night and blast tunes, hoping my neighbors can't hear (I've never lived in an apartment complex before). I've got pictures on the wall and magnets on the fridge and books organized by type, author, and title on my shelves. My syllabi are all transcribed into my daily planner and my alarm clock is in the bathroom so I'll be able to turn it off and step into the shower every morning. My coffee is assembled so that all six cups will be brewed before I finish dressing and the bus stops right at the bottom of my steps to take me directly to the library where I will spend tomorrow studying.
I'm in graduate school now, and we have homework.
