Hometown: The Roch, MI (aka. The Crotch, aka. Crotchscratcher, aka. Crotchmolester, aka. Rochester)
Currently Living: Clawson, MI
Height: 5'8
Weight: Ha ha, yeah right
Favorite Color: Blue (preferably navy)
Profession: Researcher
Favorite Nickname: Trick, Sloan
Favorite Drinks:Vodka Tonic, Guinness, Diet Dr. Pepper, Dirty Martinis, red wine
Favorite TV Show: Friends, Sex & The City, Project Runway, The Amazing Race, Iron Chef America
Least Favorite TV Show: A Baby Story, I Love Lucy, Martha Stewart, Everybody Loves Raymond, every hour long drama
Favorite Books: The History of Love, Beloved, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Fight Club, A Prayer for Owen Meany, The of Being, SurUnbearable Lightness vivor, Empire Falls, The Corrections, The Bell Jar
Favorite Movies: Little Miss Sunshine, Anchorman, The 40 Year Old Virgin, Wordplay, American Beauty, Life is Beautiful, Amelie, Breakfast Club, Singin In The Rain, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Sleeping Beauty, Dancer in the Dark, Duets, The Virgin Suicides, The Manchurian Candidate (1962), Austin Powers I, II & III, My Best Friends Wedding, Moulin Rouge, Tommy Boy, Billy Madison, The Shining, Gone With The Wind, Bridget Jones' Diary, Chicago, Love Actually
Guilty Pleasure Movies: Xanadu, Dirty Dancing, Overboard, Groundhog Day, Steel Magnolias, 10 Things I Hate About You, Bond movies, Footloose, Clue, Murder By Death, High Spirits, A Cinderella Story
What I Do Too Much: Check email, crossword puzzles, complain about my job to friends and family,
Obsessions: sushi, Indian food, ranch dressing, toenail polish, song lyrics, hands, awards shows, symmetry, avocados, maps, dreams, This American Life, the display in my car that tracks my MPG
Pet Peeves: loud eaters, slurping, gulping, arrogance, snoring, bad grammar, repetition, late mergers, ripping cardboard, the word "chunky", intolerance, couples in a restaurant sitting on the same side of a booth, pop-up ads, privacy manager, men that drive without shirts on, being foolish, unfairly jumping to conclusions, being made fun of, cat-calling, people who type too hard
Greatest Fear: crossing bridges
Relaxing Activites: late night drives to sing by myself, headstands, hot baths,
Wish I Was: Ansel Adams, Jenifer Aniston, in love, living alone
Prized Possessions: ring from my grandparents, flower pot of my Grandma's, electric blanket (temporarily broken), tongue scraper, my bed
Craziest Thing Ever Done: getting a tattoo, strip Jenga
Things I Eventually Want To Do: skydive, buy a guitar, learn how to play the aforementioned guitar, take flying lessons, travel to France, write a novel, learn how to play the harp, tap dancing lessons, run a marathon
Wednesday, December 29, 2004 And maybe she'd take me to France, and maybe in Spain, she'd ask me to dance in a mansion on the top of the hill....I'm trying to pretend to be inspired writer girl tonight, complete with glass of red wine. I was hoping to channel Sylvia Plath or something. Well, except without the whole nasty suicide bit. But with the brilliant witty writing part. But instead I'm whining on my blog about why I can't accomplish anything.
About 1 1/2 years ago, I submitted a piece of writing for the local hipster newspaper's "music edition", requesting music journalistic pieces. They would choose the best and publish them. I was called by the hipster paper telling me that I was one of the top 25 that they had chosen and that it was one of the funniest that they had received. Although I didn't end up being one of the final chosen ones (that sounds a litle religious cultish, like they were picking members for a new Dravidian Cult, southeast Michigan chapter), it was the only thing that I've ever submitted for any kind of contest or anything. And it was certainly ego-feeding and self-doubt-eliminating to hear that they thought it was any good, and that someone (other than my friends or family,) who has some bonafide writing clout gave me some props.
I have no excuse for why I haven't done anything since this time in the past year and a half. Other than getting to the point where I sit down at my computer with great ideas bursting from my head that I have jotted down all over ATM receipts and my little notebook. But I think that it's something about staring at a blank screen that daunts me. It's something about printed words on a screen that don't convey what is lurking in my head. I can edit like a fiend from a printed text, but I can't get it right on a computer.
And I've considered just writing it all out long-hand, but that has become limited to extra-short pieces. I can't even complete excessively long thoughts in my journal due to sheer laziness of handwriting. And I've even considered investing in a typewriter, hoping that the blank sheets of paper wouldn't have the same effect on my mental imbalance as a blank screen. But until recently, such purchase would have incurred wrath from the crazies that used to live downstairs. Which, in hindsight, makes me wish even more that I would have made the purchase. "Well I'm sorry, but it's my job to write, and when I have deadlines, I have to type in the middle of the night." Lie, and lie, but those would have been two lies that would have been worth it for those bastards.
So what's my point here? I can't seem to get anything done. I have about 10 different things in varying stages of completion, and I like rereading them, and find myself thinking, "Hey, I actually wrote that?" But I haven't been doing a very good job of adding anything additional to them. So there are just more and more blank pages on more and more half-finished things I've written. But since this is one of my New Year's Resolutions, I guess I should get on it, instead of typing away more and more garbage to fill up a blog.
Ya know what though? That one piece that I submitted? I actually really like it.
6:35 PM
