There will be time, there will be time

Hiiiiigh hopes. High apple pie in the skyyyy hopes.

vivalalindsey — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 05:17:45 +0000

First, a few comments about the last couple of games:

1. Kyle Kendrick can be my barista anyday

2. I still don’t like Chan Ho Park

3. I hope Cliff Lee gets laid by hot chicks every night for the rest of his life because he’s so wonderful! 3 hits…..is he that serious? Yes, he’s that serious.

4. It sucks to be Hiroki Kuroda

Musings about work:

Today, rude goat girl came in with two friends at 8:40. We close at 9. They left at 10:20. They tipped me 12.82%. I curse them all. After I came home, there was an annoyance regarding taking out the trash. I haven’t interacted with anyone that has manners today. Argh. I’ll probably delve more into this later.

But anyways, tomorrow…...PHILLIES IN 5!

There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home

vivalalindsey — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 16:48:57 +0000

There’s no place like home, unless you don’t have one. And I don’t mean home in the sense of a place to sleep with a roof over it. Not a home in the home is where the house is kind of way. I mean home in the Zach Braff/Garden State sense of the word. Somewhere to feel comfortable, your sanctuary in a way, where you are welcome if not wanted.

vivalalindsey — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 16:21:21 +0000

There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you’re high it’s tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones. Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people. Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced is irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one’s marrow. But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friends’ faces are replaced by fear and concern. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against–you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. you never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality. It goes on and on, and finally there are only others’ recollections of your behavior–your bizarre, frenetic, aimless behaviors–for mania has at least some grace in partially obliterating memories. What then, after the medications, psychiatrist, despair, depression, overdose? All those incredible feelings to sort through. Who is being too polite to say what? Who knows what? What did I do? Why? And most hauntingly, when will it happen again? Then, too, are the bitter reminders–medicine to take, resent, forget, take, resent, and forget, but always to take. Credit cards revoked, bounced checks to cover, explanations due at work, apologies to make, intermittent memories, friendships gone or drained. And always, when will it happen again? Which of my feelings are real? Which of the me’s is me? The wild, impulsive, chaotic, energetic, and crazy one? Or the shy, withdrawn, desperate, suicidal, doomed, and tired one? Probably a bit of both, hopefully much that is neither. Virginia Woolf, in her dives and climbs, said it all: “How far do our feelings take their colour form the dive underground? I mean, what is the reality of any feeling?”

proof that MJ is trying to destroy me.

vivalalindsey — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 01:25:36 +0000

The cat is going for the carotid artery, obviously. Quickest way to kill.

Attack deflected.

cat scratch fever

vivalalindsey — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 07:16:12 +0000

People always say that you can’t buy your friends, but when it comes to pets that is totally not the case. I realize that I did not purchase any of my pets; however, I didn’t exactly buy them outright, as one might do if buying a slave and forcing him or her to be your friend, or say, joining a sorority where you pay a hefty fee and commit hours of your time monthly in exchange for said friendship (however, in the former example you’d probably at least be getting your money’s worth). Anyways, I didn’t buy my pets from a breeder, as this would be inhumane and unforgivably immoral and politically incorrect. Belle came from the humane society, and was acquired for a mere $175. I got MJ for free. MJ is my cat. I had another cat, Hemingway (who was a girl), but I gave her away because my apartment is too small, and I suppose I just can’t afford that many friends.

If I didn’t buy them food, cool squeaky toys, litte round yarny balls, sticks with bells and feathers attached, automatic litter boxes, etc., to play with, my pets would not like me and they wouldn’t be my friends. MJ would actually be my mortal enemy. I provide for MJ with great care, and take the time to play with him everyday. He doesn’t care about any of this, and I’m starting to think he thirsts for my blood. This isn’t just some crazy idea based on the suspicions of an unraveling 21-year-old……the cat actually tries to injure me everyday. I’m covered in so many bloody scratches I look like a 15-year-old emo kid with easy access to razors and not enough supervision. Belle loves me unconditionally.

Cats are too much like humans.

But still better than humans, no contest.

This post has clearly lost sight of its point, but I’ll sum it up anyway:

-I’ve been trying to write shorter sentences as mine tend to be rambly and overly complex, and i think I’m succeeding.

-Can real friendships between humans exist? They can all be bought, essentially. It’s just a trade-off between things people want. More out of convenience, really.

-How many pets must one have, what actions must one take, and what behaviors must one exhibit to be considered a cat lady? Have I become a cat lady?

vivalalindsey — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 12:29:27 +0000

After careful observation of my father’s side of the family for the past twenty-one years, I have decided to be responsible and not have children. Someone should seriously end this. Our genetic information has no business being passed on to future generations. Judging from what I’ve seen on reality television, there is already enough crazy out there. ESPN’s “The Pen” and A&E’s “Hammertime,” are obviously not included in this generalization, because both are amazing shows.

vivalalindsey — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 09:35:20 +0000

I feel like I’m wasting my young life away. Cliche cliche cliche. When I was in high school none of this mattered and I looked forward to being middle aged because I would have accomplished so much. This might not turn out to be true. Accomplishments don’t fight loneliness.

livejournal.com/well_actually

vivalalindsey — Sun, 31 May 2009 22:54:53 +0000

I remembered my old livejournal address. And yes, emo little bitch that I was, I wrote in it religiously. It’s odd to read it now because I feel like I’m reading someone else’s livejournal, even though I haven’t changed that much and I know that it is (was) mine. I am proud to say that I always used proper grammar and never did that weird up-down typing thing (example: i’M sO fUcKiNg StUpId ii ShOuLdN’t bE aLloWeD to rEpRoDuCe **~*~~).

vivalalindsey — Thu, 21 May 2009 09:15:54 +0000

My web psuedonym is vivalalindsey. There is an insipid, mediocre little shit in fuckwit, midwest that has stolen my blog name and she sucks! Shallow, boring, imperfect grammar. Yuck!

And by the way dumbass, those cheap ass forever 21 shoes are copying Coach not Balenciaga or Givenchy. You should probably watch E! Fashion police more closely. A little fashion aficionado such as yourself shouldn’t make such lamentable errors.

– Post From My iPhone

I’m the only sober person within a 12 mile radius of my apartment

vivalalindsey — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 02:43:47 +0000

FIRST OF ALL, I IMPLORE, WHO GETS DRUNK ON A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON?!

I don’t drink or smoke, so I feel have the to absolutely abhor stupid drunks that

1. vomit in my car
2. hit on me after I ask them REPEATEDLY to leave me alone
3. mumble incoherently
4. scare the shit out of me when they fall asleep in the front yard of the apartment as if they have alcohol poisoning
5. eat all my greek dressing!

Also, I need to get a job that doesn’t require dealing with intoxicated people.

So I conclude, there doesn’t need to be an age limit on legally consuming alcohol, just an IQ limit. Most breweries would probably go out of business in this country though. Actually, as anti-drug as I am, I think we could probably legalize them too if the IQ law was strict enough.