Tag Archives: feelings

things i’m loving right now;

-via

i know, i know, kids. there has been a lack of mackenzie in this blog of mine. it’s mostly been chock-full of quotes not written by me. not a whole lot of awkward letters written to my future gentleman caller. or ramblings about how much my kindle has sucked away my social life.

because to be quite honest, i’ve been feeling a lack of shine in my everyday demeanor. in the last two weeks i’ve had to make quite a few hefty decisions. some were quite impulsive and unexpected, and the others had been sitting in my stomach like a bad stomachache that i had pushed away, ignored, and didn’t believe to be a sign.

which brings me to my number one thing that i’m loving right now…

1. i quit my job. finally. i had been dreaming about this day for months. i had originally planned a humorous way to quit my job, which included throwing up the deuces, rolling away on one of the stock carts at work, throwing my apron on the ground, and i would somehow find a way to incorporate a rube goldberg machine in there.  for months i had felt a lack of shine. i was too tired from work (and its odd shifts. 9 am to 7:30?!) to go to my yoga or dance classes, hang out with friends. i had enough mental capacity to watch one episode of “late night with jimmy fallon” until i passed out on the first surface i could find. i was desperately needing a coffee break for the soul. probably the most impulsive decision i’ve made in a while, but definitely the most worth it!

2. matt pond pa. seriously. every time i listen to this band i feel as if my life is being changed. my favorites by them include : halloween, snow day , and devil in the water. they make me want to go hiking in the pocono mountains and eat s’mores on a early fall night. i know. description, much? but it’s so true.

3. having enough time to do yoga. seeing as i now have a lot more time (but not for long, i got a new job yesterday! god is so spot-on sometimes) i have been making my favorite night time yoga classes. it feels so good to get back into my favorite poses (dancers pose, half moon, and tree) that i’ve actually been catching myself with a stupid-silly grin on my face on the  mirror in the studio. i’d count that as a good sign.

4. paying off all of my student loans to my former school! and now i can get my transcripts and have since applied to transfer schools! now all i have to do is wait until june 1st and i can find out from two more schools that i’ve applied to! so many deserving exclamation points! and now i can officially check this one off my list of things i wanted to do this year.

5. my collection of vegan cookbooks. these bad boys have also been making me giving that silly-stupid grin on my face this week. yoga and a lot of baking of french onion tarts have been making me want to do happy dances while listening to matt pond pa. i think i might have to start a food series on my little ol’ blog. my house is an amalgam (i love that word) of french onion tarts, fresh baked banana bread, roasted asparagus with lemon, and the most ridiculous walnut-chocolate chip cookies. you guys are all welcome to come over if you bring me breath mints.

6. the books of nick hornby and david nicholls. guys, write more books for me. i’m already almost done with starter for ten, mr. nicholls, and i’m starting one day next. hornby, we’ve talked about this before. i need more of your british wit in my life, and i’m running out of books by you. no pressure, just hurry up. please?

xo

orlando, thank you for being so kind.

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sometimes i’m not as much of a reluctant orlando native as i lead on. sure, i have grown out of my cravings to go to places like gatorland, disney, and universal. and yes, i miss having four seasons, instead of one really terribly long season and two mini seasons (spring doesn’t really exist here. summer just happens.) and it always confused me as a child when i couldn’t figure out why winter only lasted 2 weeks, and summer was quick to follow those short weeks of winter. 

whenever i visited other cities when i was little, other little kids would act so jealous that i got to live in  florida, home of magic, disney, and people parading around in costumes and bathing suits year round. i never understood what made these little kids so envious. i was so jealous of kids who got to grow up in puddle-filled portland oregon. or deer and snow-covered mountains of the poconos of pennsylvania.  or any city of the south that had the soda cheerwine.

but after a day of thrifting , and a farmers market in my favorite little neighborhood of orlando, and eating homemade pretzels i’ve come to sort of feel a bit sentimental about my hometown. and i’m not going to lie. during lunch i was bold enough to ask my mom if i could move back in with her after i graduate, so we can finally become lorelai and rory gilmore, like we have always dreamed (i just cringed as i typed this. out of my evident cool-factor.)

but today was so nice. so i thank you, orlando. for being so kind to my reluctant self. you didn’t blast your reggaeton at me or make the humidity turn my hair into a white girl afro. today i felt proud that i scraped my knees on your playgrounds. and quickly ate melting popsicles on hot february days (seriously). and have climbed so many of your trees whose leaves never fell (autumn doesn’t exist here either). and always being that person who wears flip-flops year round. and for all of that, i say thank you.

 

what is your hometown? what did you love and hate about it?

scenes from twenty;

                                                                -via

i’m silly to say this, but even though i am only  five days in to my membership a part of the twenty-somethings of this world i feel as if i know what this year will have in store for me.

ever since i turned nineteen, i’ve felt a sort of spark surrounding birthdays. for so many of my birthdays i’ve thought they needed to be filled with lots of friends, whether they were close or not. confetti and liveliness. blasting music and smiling faces. a space filled up. but that’s not what birthdays mean to me anymore. i no longer care if i chose the right invitations or invited the right people. or chose the right theme for the party. and so on and so forth. since i turned nineteen, i feel like birthdays are times where you give yourself more and more permission.

more permission to…

…get  a silly tattoo that some friends might think is a bad idea.

…ask cute boys to swing dance with you. just because.

…take silly trips to far away lands such as chicago, boston, new york, and san francisco. and not feel bad for deciding to do so.

…and not feeling bad for any of your decisions for that matter.

…spending most of your birthdays with your mom by your side. because she is better than a room full of people. and she also agrees to take you to target and go on a mini-shopping spree.

…enjoying a vegan cheese steak with gusto. sure, it might make you a “hipster”, but it is really ridiculously delicious. especially when chased by a vegan chocolate chip cookie soon after.

…asking members of bands to take photo booth pictures with you.

…deciding where you want to move. where you want to go to school. and not letting any one else’s judgment determine either of those. it’s taken twenty + years to acquire that intuition, trust that thing!

and this isn’t just on days of birthdays. for me, it’s extended into the rest of the year. i’ve never held much weight to resolutions on january first. for me, march 7th is the most magical of days. and this one was especially so. when i turned nineteen i finally learned what it meant to be free, but was a bit hesitant in how i wielded that newfound freedom. i knew i had that freedom in my pocket but kept it in there for rainy days and used it with caution. i was a card carrying free lady of the world, but tended to only use that membership card for occasions spread out over the year. but when i turned twenty, i instantly felt like it was a crime to not use that freedom.

so use it i will.

because i’d really like to go swing dancing again. until a ridiculous hour of the night…er, morning.

with boys that may or may not have worn fedoras *

 

*sorry future man friend, i’m a flip flopper.

two thousand and ten;

In 2010, ladyfriend over here….

- withdrew from new college. a thing i had wanted to do 8 months earlier but didn’t have the “cajones” to do so. no regrets, best decision i’ve ever made. I’ve always been a very safe person. and some may regard it as ” a dumb, teenage decision”, but i only have 3 more months of being a teenager, so to them i say “WHAT IS THIS, HORSEVILLE?! I’M SURROUNDED BY NAY-SAYERS! NAY-SAYERS!”.

-went to chicago . (and dreamt that sufjan stevens fell in love with me. many times). oh, how two weeks in a city you’ve never been to before by yourself in can make you feel so lost and so found. i love you chicago. you made me feel like i am woman and the world can hear me roar. and all that cool feminism stuff. thank you for that.

- visited too many beautiful libraries to count. (harper library @ uchicago, widener @ harvard university, boston public library, new york public library, chicago public library. swoon!) so much beauty. so much nerdiness. i almost found myself tearing up when i was near very beautiful rotundas in various library reading rooms. yes, i am just that type of broad. the one who gets misty eyed under ornately painted rotundas. i really am such a catch.

- went to boston. oh, boston. who knew a frivolous paycheck spent on a plane ticket on some random friday morning could be such a good decision? once again, thank you for reaffirming what chicago put in my silly little head: i am woman and hear me roar and beyonce and independent woman and all that cool stuff. and the fact that i got to experience “mit henge” was also a plus. and found myself in the basement of an mit frat party, but that’s another story for another day.

- was cast in a musical (‘aphra’ in children of eden) and a play (an insane inmate of an asylum. i got to twitch and everything. creative freedom for the win.) ! AND I EVEN HAD NAMES IN BOTH! and in the latter, a nun actually came to all of the shows and told me that she loved my portrayal of a twitching schizo. and a man told me he watched me the entire show and tried to see if i broke character and he said i didn’t once! and i even learned how to do scabby, bruised make-up on myself, which i’m sure is bound to come in handy one day.

i know, i know. i wrote this all down in my diary, where i write all of my “cool story, bro” entries.

- went to THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP! once again, best random train ticket to nyc purchase ever. never have i been surrounded by so much lovely nerdiness.

-other honorable mentions include : went to MoMA. got my first tattoo. was serenaded by drag queens after late night performances on more than one occasion. got to take improv classes at second city chicago. ate dinner at the top of the prudential building in boston. went to the top of the sears tower in chicago. went to central park. took african-contemporary dance classes. stopped getting crushes on mean boys. crafted and crafted and crafted some more. ran 13.1 miles in one go, without training. got accidental backstage passes to a vampire weekend concert. and partied with my high school valedictorian at an mit frat party.

it’s eery to think that this time last year i had absolutely no expectations, no real plans set in stone. i was just rolling with the punches with a lot of hope but a very downcast girl who had no big girl pants on. i was in the middle of a friendship that was deteriorating, a school i lost hope in, and a plan for a life that was not anywhere near what my eight year old self would have hoped for.

and i can say without a doubt that i am there. i have the big girl pants, and they don’t feel too snug! i am not at that school anymore. and gosh darnit, i’m actually traveling! by myself! to places i’ve never been before! and i’m in theatre and making music and doing things that just make me want to do happy dances on end. and it’s all because i knew i could. and that’s a really powerful thing.

and it’s making me all giddy-pants mcgee to think of what 2011 might have in store for this little lady over here.

san francisco? france? prague? produce some music? take more african dance classes? woo myself a gentleman caller? be on a shining little stage a lot more often?

who really knows? that’s the beauty of it.

i hope 2011 brings you what your eight year old self would have wanted for you. ’cause it sure has for me.

funny girl complex;

chicago 036                                                     Chicago, circa April 2010

Maybe I’m tooting my horn. Perhaps I’m on an extremely high horse. Or maybe I tell myself way too many affirmations. Or I’ve had too many people telling me I have to do stand-up.

But I think I have a little disorder called the “funny girl" complex. Hailed by psychologists as a means to get people to like them or make sure everyone is happy.

Actually, that is a lie. I’m as much of a psychologist as Lucy from “Charlie Brown” is.

Damn, that makes me a pathological liar now, on top of being a possible pseudo-funny girl.

But that’s besides the point.

From a very young age, I’ve always wanted to be different. You’d never see me wanting Limited Too tops with frogs rollerskating atop  them. You’d never see me wanting to get my nails painted. I’d rather brush up on my spelling lists than play with my E-Z Bake oven (I was that annoying girl who won every spelling bee. I still scream out the etymology to words when I watch Scripps. I’m not joking).  I lived on my navy blue Razor scooter, not blessed with the cuteness most 8 year old girls had been gifted with; I had a large bushel of hair to give Diana Ross a run for her money. And I definitely had a lot more meat on me than Limited Too jeans knew what to deal with.

But despite all that, I was funny. That, I knew I had going for me.

I broke VHS tapes of the movie “Superstar” and lived for re-runs of “Strangers with Candy”, “Kids in the Hall”, and any episode of “Saturday Night Live”. If I had known  how to acquire the old bubble gum and hair of Molly Shannon and Cheri Oteri at 8 years old, I would have made a shrine to them and prayed to it three times a day. I think by the time I entered middle school, I had at least memorized most of the skits, characters, and voices from the late-‘90s episodes of SNL. I was smitten with making people laugh.

Growing up, I was also mostly the nerdy girl. The one who would recite facts that my teachers had told me, annoying most of my friends when I told them some new French verbs I had learned that day. But I quickly learned how threatening that kind of girl is to most people. You seem unapproachable, intimidating, and besides, no ten year-old really wants to know what new French verbs you’ve learned. No one. They just want to braid your hair, or talk about Scottie’s new hair cut that makes him totally more dreamy than before. Or have Britney Spears dance-parties.

So I slowly but surely assumed the role of Funny, Weird Girl. Not by force. It had always been a part of me, just dwarfed by my aspirations to be on Scripps, my obsession with school supplies,and raising my hand for every question in class. I had always really enjoyed the Age of Avril Lavigne, when wearing skirts over jeans, ties with T-shirts, and messed up Converses were suddenly made “cool”. The Weird Girl had been put on a pedestal, and I was all over it like a white girl on a diet coke. I was more than happy to be able to wear skirts over my jeans throughout middle school (I still wear dresses over my jeans. Holla, 12 year old self!). This all allowed me to feel that being weird, funny, and smart was okay.

And so here I am. Still Weird. Still (partially) Funny. Still Smart. And that’s basically how people know me. Which I guess is my own fault. I always give myself a metaphorical pat on the back when I can make someone laugh. Hell, I dropped out of New College because I wanted to break into Improv comedy and be on SNL. Which is still true. No shame in that. But I guess what I’m hinting at is that I’m a lot more than that. I’m not just everyone’s weird, funny friend.

I’m an amateur Speed-Scrabble player (Okay, I’m more than an amateur, but I’m attempting to be humble). I’m an expert hummus eater. Occasional poet/songwriter of non-parody songs (although I still think “I Kissed a Weasley Twin (Don’t know which one, and I liked it)” is my finest work) . Pseudo-ginger. Lover of moody Smiths songs. Amateur quiet person (I really am an amateur at this; I lack volume control). Aspiring triple threat, but hopefully I will be more successful than Britney Spears.  A part time- serious person, underneath my goofy exterior and penchant for making funny faces instead of flattering ones whenever a camera is whipped out. I still like the occasional to-do list, despite my impulsive Travelocity purchases. And the type of girl who writes her transfer essays in October when they aren’t even due until April.

And I guess a part of me feels limited by being the funny girl. I want to be more than that. I want to sing really moody love songs in smoke-filled clubs in long peasant skirts.  I still want to perform comedy, but I also want to perform pieces that give people chill-bumps, raise the hair on their arms, and cry. I want to write and make people laugh with my words, but I also want to make people think, question, and possibly scare them a bit with them as well. I want to be able to dance awkwardly at parties, but be able to turn it all around and have lengthy talks about etymology and philology.

In short, I want to be able to ride my Razor scooter down the road and sing moody love songs in the same capacity. Just that. Only that.

And that’s all I truly want.

 

currently listening to ‘archipelago’// mirah

jobs, nail-painting, and the like;

(via weheartit )

For the most of my 19 years of existence I have gone without two things: a job for longer than two months and the desire to have my nails painted on a regular basis.  Two things that never really correlated until this very moment in time.

You see, I’ve never really been the type of girl who felt the need to be pampered or have a stranger scrub the bottom of my foot with a pumice stone whilst reading Us Weekly. I’d very much rather sit on my scratchy roof (same pumice stone texture for free!) with a book. And deal with some seriously creepy looking feet. And that’s fine with me. Until maybe about a month ago.

I guess I should also mention that I’m an incredibly stubborn creature. I will never ask for help and I will never admit defeat. I also will choose to not do something if someone asks me to do a specific task. If you ever want me to play tennis with you or wash the dishes, I will never do either of those things. I have no idea why. It’s just how I work. Just don’t ask me, I’ll end up playing tennis with you AND doing the dishes!

And if you ask me to not paint my nails a specific color you should know that I will rebel in some sort of way.

Or at the very least, post something on my blog about it.

Which brings me to this week at my job. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. It’s very steady and reliable and I get to say I worked as a carnie to all my future employers(!!!). And I’ve definitely had much worse summer jobs throughout high school, and even though I basically function as a modern-day carnie (I work at a certain theme park, ahem), I get to spend my workday giving stuffed animals to children. And that’s much better than serving pad-thai in a kimono to very cranky Russian businessmen. At least I think so.

And over time, I’ve found myself also growing fond of my weekly nail-painting ritual. I get this awesome tunnel vision (possibly from the nail polish remover fumes?), blast my music, and paint my nails so sloppily that it looks like I finger painted them.

Until this week.  When my managers told me my favorite nail polish could get me written up. And sure, this might be categorized as a “white girl problem”, but for me it really spun a huge web of thoughts for me.

All of them were along the lines of “Mack-fizzle (don’t hate on my subconscious talking to me), what are you doing? You’re a modern day carnie. In Orlando. Living in the same old place. And you can’t even paint your nails how you like. That’s incredibly messed up. Reevaluate yourself for a minute”.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m getting closer and closer to living the life I imagined myself having when I was 10. I left a school I felt was completely wrong for me. I’ve been in a play and a musical . I’ve gotten close to what I wanted for myself when I was ten. Performer of some sort. On a stage somewhere (with my clothes on, mind you).  Entertaining people (still with my clothes on, mind you). And having some bad-a$$ painted nails. Because I can. But I know for daggone sure that staying in Orlando with job-neutral nail polish is definitely temporary.

It’s funny how a little thing like nail-painting can make you re-evaluate your choices, right? Deep down, I’m very content. I don’t have really any ties to Orlando or any place or person, so I’m basically free to go anywhere and do anything I choose, and that makes me incredibly happy and free. So why am I still in Orlando? Well, student loans are one. And the fact that I have a job here is a plus. But I’m nearly done paying them off, so what will happen after that? Where will I go then?

Well, let’s just say I might not be calling this place home anymore. And I’m painting my nails anyway I damn well please.

Hot pink. With crystals. And maybe some bedazzled skulls for good measure.

And the people I sit next to on my one-way flight to wherever I choose will definitely be in awe of them.

 

 

currently listening to ‘marry you’// glee cast.

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plans schmlans;

Perhaps it’s just me, but I have a horrible, terrible, ridiculous habit of not making plans until 3 hours prior to anything, and if anything is planned more than 3 hours in advance I fear I will spontaneously combust.

It’s true, but I’m just that kind of classy broad.

My close friends understand this, or try to remain sane whenever we somehow make plans more than 3 hours in advance and the steam begins to stream out of my ears in preparation for the explosion.

Except I don’t stuff my mouth with cotton swabs/marshmallows/tennis balls/small children? (too far?) prior to meltdown.

It really takes a lot of willpower and convincing myself in my bathroom mirror via pep-talks to get me to keep plans that I knew I couldn’t keep. A lot. And a lot of people would chalk this up to that word, that terrible word that I hate SO MUCH. Yes.

Flake.

Gag me with a spoon. It makes me cringe more than a play-date planned for next Thursday on last Monday. Besides the fact that plans make me want to flee to Siberia, I really do not consider myself a flake. I’d like to think that despite my love of color-coding on Google calendars and buying new planners and calendars each year, I’m just not hard-wired for planning, well, anything.

jackenzieduggar

Plan fail: I failed at not dressing like one of those kids on “123758365 kids and Counting”. I look like a Duggar family child named “Jackenzie”.

I’m actually pretty sure that if my wedding was planned I would flee. Not because of cold feet that my new husband would somehow reveal some secret to me via “Maury”, but because of the pressure of having to inhabit a certain place with a certain amount of people for a certain amount of time. Even if I know it’s fun! You don’t even know how many times I wanted to buck out on a Quidditch club, German/French club meeting that I was leading.

It honestly boggles my mind. And just like that one part of a pedicure when the pedicurist (?!?!?!) scrubs that sensitive and ticklish part of your foot with the pumice stone, I. Just. Can’t. Handle. It.

Maybe it’s my habit of ambushing people at their houses without telling them first, that makes me expect others to ambush me(which actually happens quite a bit) , thus negating the need for plans? Maybe it’s my fear of not being all song-and-dance (and I’m a pretty song-and-dance type of broad) when the time of the plans do come that I just convince myself that those sweatpants of mine and that Season 1 30 Rock DVD look far too alluring that night for my plans.

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Plan success: I failed at planning to read this book. This is one fail I consider a success.

Maybe I’m too spontaneous for plans? Perhaps. Maybe I’m just spoiled by the fact that I could literally launch myself onto my good friend’s balcony at college in order to ask her to hang out that very second if I so choose?

And even when I do make plans, it’s usually just a reason to use my dear colored Sharpie pens or post-it highlighter pens to color-coordinate things into submission…

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This is a legit picture of my senior year journal. Pure madness.

And then sigh to myself and say, “Man, that’s a really nice looking planner/post-it/Google calendar page. Hah, it’s too bad I’ll never bake those muffins…Maybe I should throw rocks at my BFF’s window and scream his name until he agrees to go on a bike escapade with me?”fjhfhg 593

Plan success: My best guy friend’s cat died in my senior year of high school, so I offered to make him his favorite casserole to help him mourn. Within a couple hours (less than three, mind you), I had successfully biked over to his house with a sweet potato “catsserole” with marshmallows in the shape of a cat. I can’t make this stuff up.

Because that’s just how my mind works.

Currently, these are the following things I’m “planning” <——teeheeheehee!

1.Looking into transfer schools for Spring.

2.Visit schools in Boston and New Yaawwwk (partially to visit schools, partially to go to Vampire Weekend concert and then throw various pieces of my undergarments at them. With my number on them)

3. Try to get a job lined up for a fall that won’t make me feel like death, i.e. no waitressing jobs.(today I tried to find Au pair jobs! Tomorrow, I will probably try to find either ditch-digger, lamp-lighter, or telemarketer jobs. Who knows?).

I was moderately successful with selling mysoulself on this Au pair-matching website and actually got some responses back from families in Jersey, Turkey, Italy, and Poland!! Who knows where I will go?! Once again, who knows?!

4.Finish compiling essays for my book I’m hoping to have self-published by the end of this summer. Yay, for planning for pursuits of vanity!

Now the real question is, do you plan things? Or are you an alien-cyborg like me? Let a sister know!

tunesday: songs to scream with glory.

I don’t know about you, but I tend to be that certain family member who goes a different route than most of my other family members. Going to an ultra liberal, extremely small liberal arts college, getting a Harry Potter tattoo, never keeping a job past the seasonal point, leaving that same college because it felt so completely wrong, and moving and then quickly coming back home, I’ve definitely gotten myself into pretty weird situations.

And I wouldn’t even come close to saying that I’m the black sheep. Not at all, as I have one of the most loving mother, brother, and extended family on the planet. I’d say I’m more like the sheep that has a couple of random misshapen spots on her legs.

But even being the sheep with spots tends to lead to some frustration and sometimes criticism doesn’t get taken easily. And I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. After yesterday’s incident involving a pretty rude anonymous commenter I made sure to have a good laugh (or five), put on my romper (that is the physical embodiment of love, methinks), and watched a good corny movie, and all was right in the world. Because to be honest, reading is like listening. Just don’t continue reading/listening if you don’t agree and it somehow makes you feel that writing rude, anonymous comments on my blog is a constructive way to voice this. If you don’t like what I’m writing then please, not even just for me, but for yourself, stop reading.I have plenty other people who enjoy this blog, and one comment won’t make me close up shop. And comments like that don’t even hurt they just make me laugh, make me feel like I want to prove someone wrong, and …

HELP ME GET THREE TIMES MORE PAGEVIEWS THAN I USUALLY DO.

THANKS, SUCKA!

But anyways, back to being the mature and sensible adult that I am (bahahahahaha), I thought I’d feature some favorite songs to sing, scream, and feel like you are a beastly person that can take on the world. ‘Cause you can. So download these songs (I’m working on how to put the actual mp3s on here, so you all can download them), blast them in your car, cubicle, or bathroom as you are showering and feel like a beast.

“Songs to scream with glory” playlist:

1. “A Better Son/Daughter”, Rilo Kiley

Lines to scream:

But you’ll fight and you’ll make it through/ You’ll fake it if you have to
And you’ll show up for work with a smile/ And you’ll be better
And you’ll be smarter /And more grown up /And a better daughter or son
And a real good friend /And you’ll be awake/ You’ll be alert
You’ll be positive though it hurts/And you’ll laugh and embrace all your friends
And you’ll be a real good listener/You’ll be honest/You’ll be brave
You’ll be handsome and you’ll be beautiful/You’ll be happy

2. “32 Flavors”, Ani Difranco

Although not necessarily a screaming song, still has some pretty cool lines to scream to:

and god help you if you are a pheonix/and you dare to rise up from the ash
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy /while you are just flying back

3.”Non, Je ne regrette rien”, Edith Piaf

An awesome song to scream to and pretend you can sing fluently in French to.

4. “Mykonos”, Fleet Foxes

Lines to scream:

You go/Wherever you go today/You go today
[x8]
(at the end)

5. “Hong Kong Garden”, Siouxsie and the Banshees

Lines to scream:

Um, the entire song? Please and thank you.

 

So don’t just sit there; go scream, act like a harpie, and make me proud!

 

P.S.

music monday: cheer up, charlie

Friends, let me just tell you that I still have no words.

Well, that’s a lie. I do have words, but to be honest if I use too much of them you might think I became a wonder-twin and somehow changed into the form of…

Gary Busey.

 

or Ke$ha when she first decided to single-handedly demote the majestic nature of SNL.

(Which, I’m not going to lie, was entertaining nonetheless.)

But a good friend of mine suggested I do a Music Monday post, and at first I was a bit wary. Wary in the sense that I might just feature total Debbie Downer music up and down this thing.

Don’t get me wrong, I love love love LOVE this city, aside from the part where I got lost in a TOTALLY SKETCH area for about an hour and had no idea where I was. With 3 packed bags of groceries. Looking like a deer in headlights.

But really, I love it here. I love that everyone is so friendly and welcoming. I love that when I first got to go to Second City for orientation,  I nearly writhed on the floor with glee (I might’ve lost control of my bladde…What? ;) ) and foamed at the mouth when I saw Stephen Colbert, Gilda Radner, the Belushi brothers, Tina Fey, and Steve Carell’s heavenly visages on the wall.

And not only did that lovely little episode happen, but I met a lot of great people while I was there getting oriented, like a woman named Dana who was just now starting in the conservatory program. And after I gushed at her that she was livin’ ((*mAh Dr3Am**)), she gave me lots of Second City tips, Chicago tips, and the like.

And it made me feel all warm and snuggly inside. Like I was wrapped in my good ol’ Snuggie back at home.

But I can’t lie and say that it’s all heel-clickin’ and “Mary-Tyler-Moore-you’re-gonna-make-it-after-all!” moments over here.

It’s really hard to be here too. I just moved into my place and I think it was then that I really felt the impact of what I’m doing. I’m here in a city I’ve literally only been to once because I had a layover . For an hour. Four years ago. Where I know approximately two people. There isn’t any such thing as running into people you know in the grocery store, which was pretty common in Orlando. It’s lonely. And I’m really fighting myself to put back my world’s smallest violin back into its world smallest violin case.

‘Cause deep down I love this place. And I know I’ll make friends soon. It’s just that I can only keep myself company for so long.

And I can only talk to myself for so long.

Just kidding.

(Not really.)

So without further ado, here’s my first Music Monday post, including some songs that have been cheering up my silly little self.

1. “Cheer up, Charlie” , from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Just for irony. And not going to lie, I sing this little ditty whenever my friends are sad, because I am a very cool person.

2. “You Can Call Me Al”, Paul Simon.

Some of you already know about my intense love for this song and video. You can’t get away from it on this blog. Marharharhar! ;)

3. “Clementine”, Washington.

My good friend introduced this song to me, and to be honest I played the CRAP out of this song and still do. Sorry, roommates. My b. This song usually starts off my morning dance parties in my room.

4."Warm Heart of Africa”, The Very Best feat Ezra Koenig.

Yeah, you weren’t getting away from anything that could be related back to Vampire, suckers! (See what I did there? ;) ) This is also included in my daily-morning dance party in my room. Sorry, only VIPs (and my dogs) are allowed to THAT party.

5. “You Don’t Know Me”, Ben Folds feat. Regina Spektor.

Yeah, I know. I nearly writhed AGAIN when I found out that mah’ girl Re-spekt collaborated with Ben Folds. Ben Folds, I’ve found, can heal all wounds. Yes, Ben Folds is mightier THAN TIME. Yeah, I said it.

And I meant it!

Sigh. Well I feel a loooooooot better now. I don’t know if it was just from listening to all of my favorite tunes, or from creeping on the cute grandma across from me at Panera, who is drinking a smoothie. And talking to herself. And is alone. And is smiling.

Things are gonna be a-okay, methinks.

Until later!