life is a bucket of shite

Basically, the title describes my life right now.

I'm dead on my feet, and I'm so close to just fucking jumping in front of a car.

Not really, because I still have yet to do all the things that teenagers are supposed to do... But I do have a date to smoke pot with a friend this weekend, I've dyed my hair red, and now I just need some extraneous piercings. Sound good?

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Happy belated Saint Patrick's day... I've compiled a list of my favourite Irish ballads... My favourite is There were roses. But anyhow, Irish pride, people. Couldn't find any of the really old good one's about the old IRA, but this will do...

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wonderful world/quantum physics

"And I know that it's a wonderful world/ But I can't feel it right now/ Well I thought that I was doing well/ But I just want to cry now/ Well I know that it's a wonderful world/ From the sky down to the sea/ But I can only see it when you're here, here with me."

Basically, I have very good news. The Sex God and the Obscure Object are going to Spring State.

This merits for my playlist of the day: James Morrison, Sexy Back, more Muse, some amazing Isobel Campbell with her fantastic Bang Bang, and some fucking awesome Comets on Fire.
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In other news, we watched What the *BEEP* do we know" in TOK today-- and the Obscure Object poked me to illustrate that I am only possibility when he closes his eyes, due to quantum physics. Let's just say that I feel remarkably intelligent because I am able to slightly, barely, maybe grasp the faintest idea of what quantum physics means. Actually, I don't really understand it, but I understand this: if it's true, when you close your eyes everything is possibility.

When I learn something new, or remarkable, I always feel reborn, rejuvenated. It's like the world is suddenly beautiful again, and I can marvel at the magic in the world and gasp and be in awe that our world is so amazing. One particle is in two places at the same time-- that is such an amazing, amazing idea.

oh my god

First off, I got permission to go to Spring State in April. Secondly, the Obscure Object might also be going...

Thirdly-- the Obscure Object knows that I like him. This could be a terrible thing, or a very good thing. He certainly didn't act very differently today in class. But he knows. My good friend had a conversation with him last night. It went something like this --

Friend I know plenty of people who like you.
Obscure Object Like who?
Friend I can think of numerous people off the top of my head.
Obscure Object Like Angy?
Friend I don't know about her...

He so knows. But he was totally normal in class today, which makes me think he's

• not interested in me
  
• waiting for the opportune moment to pounce
  
• doesn't give a shit
  

Well. I think it's the first one, but if I thought otherwise I'd be a conceited git. Anyhow... So, I think that some major "playing hard to get" is in order, to avoid embarrassment. He did pass me a note today in class-- about science, agreed-- but he touched my knee, and Muse was playing at very loud decibels again.

So, playlist for the day is rather varied. Pogues for the morning, Rainy Night in Soho due to the rather weird fog... Strokes for the rather hyper bit around second period, and Mika's Take it Easy for the after glow of the hyperness... and Muse of course for that "moment"--hah.

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Dance party in my head

There is totally a dance party in my head right now, with Elvis Costello playing at really loud and horrible decibels... Isn't it strange when you get random songs stuck in your head?

But Starlight (by Muse) was totally playing at full volume during TOK today, when the Obscure Object not only grabbed my arm, but detained me from cleaning up a load of tea that had spilled on my backpack in order to discuss Chaos theory with me... Either he is a selfish bastard, or he finds conversation with me very scintillating.

So, what was the soundtrack for my day? It included a lot of very strange things-- a fair deal of Rammstein, and some very lovely Lily Allen and other rather strange mixtures. OH, a great deal of Paolo Nutini as well. Very strange day-- very strange music. Small sampling of the magic. xD

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Today was one of my friend's birthday-- his seventeenth. He seemed down, so I asked what the matter was. His good friend was hit by a motorcycle the day before-- he was absolutely devastated-- and his parents made him come to school. That's what the Vienna Teng and slow Shiny Toy Guns songs are for-- acknowledgement that even good days for me, suck for someone else.

football!

Basically, after our tragic defeat against fucking Wanker Utd., I felt a need to be uplifted... so I skedaddled my little ass over to Seeqpod, and came up with an amazing Footie music list, with theme songs from the last few World Cups, as well as You'll Never Walk Alone -- my boys, my boys! Sigh... Man. I love Liverpool F.C. so much.

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[...]

The Sex God #2 greets me in the halls these days. I'm always rather dazed when he does-- and it seems like Jose Gonzalez's song "Lovestain" is playing in the back of my mind when he does... Strange?

I've decided that life isn't all that bad.

Although, I did sign up for IB Music today for next year. Stupid, stupid girl. I suppose I shall never ever learn.

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just when I thought I was getting ahead...

I realised that there is no way in hell the Obscure Object would ever like me. Agreed, he may pay very good attention to me, and check out my boobs, he is not interested in me in any other way than to bounce his theories off of, and to again, check out my boobs. Fuck. I hate life.

And the funniest part of all of this? I still like him. I still LOVE him. Yes, I know, I said the L-Word. No, not lesbian: fucking love. Now, my friends would all be rolling their eyes at this point going "fuck, here we go again", but god damn it, I'm in love with him. I love how immature he is, and how he's constantly an asshole. I love that he can't go a day without arguing-- I fucking adore his impish grin and the way his hair is always casually mussed. I'm a goner when he's scruffy, and hasn't shaved in like a week, and looks like the bad guy from an old western. I'm obsessed, and it's not pretty.

I hate hate hate how in the movies the boy always gets the girl, and it's really never the other way around, unless the crush/love is reciprocal and they're both secretly pining for one another. Because, I really don't think he's pining for me. And never will be.

So I'm just going to keep on loving him, because I don't know how not to, and hating myself for it.

Shades of Gray

Everytime I need a boost because I am a sulky bitch, I go read back issues of Ethan Gray's blog, especially the one's about his past relationships, books, and his general attitude on life. This is one of my favourites, mostly because I'm looking for the same guy he is-- and I'm young, I have time to find that guy... But I would like to start looking early.

Here's an excerpt from an entry titled "the One".

Somewhere on the island of Manhattan, in a dimly lit room is a man in his mid to late thirties. In his hands a copy of The Hours by Michael Cunningham. Sections of that morning’s New York Times are scattered on the floor, on the couch, in the bathroom, a trail of paper that bears witness to his day. It’s a cozy apartment, wooden floors, warm brown leather chairs, entire walls made of books, and a window, which if looked at from the street, flickers blue.

He’s been living there for years. He’s thought of moving, but he likes it where he is, it’s home.

Most of his accent is gone, dulled by a life lived in New York, like a kitchen knife after years of heavy use. But even today, hints of another place still come out as alcohol seeps in.

Handsome, quiet, he’s had a few serious relationships and at least one major heartbreak. It’s been a while since anyone’s managed to surprise him.

[...]

He’s a romantic. He’s the one who remembers birthdays and anniversaries, the one who spends hours finding the right present. He likes to see the surprised look on their face as they open it, a gift that says, “See? I’ve been listening.”

He likes to think the right guy’s out there, he’s just not sure.

Somewhere in Manhattan lives a man. He’s a bit of me, and a bit of whom I’d like to meet. An idea of a person that comes to mind whenever I get dumped, go on a bad date, or have sex of the ordinary kind. He has no clear features or name. He’s the one.

Okay, so maybe the not the part about the guy being gay, and thirty-something... But anyone who reads the Hours is worthy of my attention...

But anyhow, Ethan Gray is an amazing writer. I can't aspire to be him, as that would involve drastic gender change-- but I worship his writing nonetheless. He's so fucking candid. Best of the best of bloggers, I swear.