Bring me java. Bring me Joy.

It frightens me,

2006-04-28T09:47:00.000-07:00

in the middle of my graphic design education, how difficult it can be to produce a truly original thought.

Overheard in the checkout line at my super gay supermarket:

2006-04-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

Cashier: Hey, how're you? Are you having a nice weekend?
Man: Well, I had a rectal exam yesterday.
Cashier: Oh, um, I'm sorry to, er, hear that.
Man: Nah, it was pretty good actually. I haven't had sex in, like, a week.

It's amazing

2006-04-10T17:56:00.000-07:00

how many thoughts initially run through your head when you pick up a baking dish that just came out of a 350 degree oven. It's amazing how none of those initial thoughts are "Put it down, you fucking idiot."

In related news, it really hurt to type this.

I can think of little else

2006-04-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

I find more curious than the Asian people on the MUNI underground trains who are so obviously sleeping when I get on the train, yet spring up and out of their seats at precisely the moment we get to their stop.

Unless, of course, they're not getting off at their stop after all and only spring up when they realize they've been asleep on the train for the last four hours.

You know what's funny?

2006-03-30T22:14:00.000-08:00

I don't even like lattes. Or coffee, for that matter.

2006-03-29T15:59:00.000-08:00

As I sit here at my kitchen table studying the difference between uncials and half uncials (and other such important calligraphic history nuggets) I can't help but think: I'd drown a puppy in my toilet bowl for a mojito with a splash of extra lime.

I haven't got a single thing to say!

2006-03-28T09:46:00.000-08:00

Subtitle: A Letter To My Best Friend Connie

I thought I'd sit down and write you an email, but the truth is that I don't even have anything to report! In light of this, I'm just going to ramble for 8-10 minutes and hope you don't put your head through your computer monitor anywhere in the process of reading it!

I go back to class today after a very uneventful Spring Break. (I think I'm going to call it Spring Broken). A large part of the break was spent doing homework or thinking about homework. What happened to the good ol' days when you could hop a plane to Cancun with 18 of your closest friends and drink for five days straight? Not that I'd ever want to do that, but I'd like to think I at least have the option.

I got a new printer yesterday. This is probably the most boring think you've ever heard, but I'm an unrivaled loser so it has been the highlight of my life thus far. It prints up to 13" x 44" and it cost me $300 that I don't really have to spend. Isn't it sad? Remember when I used to blow my money on genuinely important things like messenger bags and winter scarves? I'm not going to lie, though. I thought for a second about how many decent pairs of pants I could have bought instead. I should write a letter to my former self telling him what a failure I've become and warning him not to make the same mistakes.

That is a direct Will & Grace reference. I watch Will & Grace every day. At least twice a day. TiVo records it for me any time it is shown anywhere in the known universe. I think I'm trying to delude myself into thinking that it's not really ending this season. I get sad when I think about it ending. Not really sad for myself, but sad for the cast. Sure, Megan Mullally has a talk show lined up and I'm sure Eric McCormack will be going right back to the stage, but what about poor Debra Messing? What else can she put on her resume? Ned and Stacy?

I really don't want to go to class today. My teacher looks like Paula Abdul would have had she not had any work done and acts even crazier. I've already told you that she hears voices in her head. Well, I found out the week before break that she's been giving me C's on my projects because she thinks I'm Andrew. I'm so glad she grades based on who we are and not on what we do. Also, Andrew has a unibrow and I'm not quite sure how to interpret that.

See? I didn't have a single thing to say! Now tell me what's going on in your life. I think this is one time when it's safe to say our lives are not running parallel. Unless you got a new printer too. And then we can give them matching names!

love you bye!
Taylor-

ps...I'm so posting this on my blog. You know, two birds, one stone, blah blah blah. It's not like there's anything private in there about you. Oh, have the crabs cleared up?

I just helped J do the crossword puzzle.

2006-03-23T21:23:00.000-08:00

I suppose "helped" is a strong word considering I really only contributed the words boa, angora, and catalog.

I suddenly feel gayer than Christmas.

2006-03-23T18:12:00.000-08:00

When I just tried to leave a comment on someone else's blog I was prompted with a set of four characters and a field in which I was supposed to type those four characters to prove that I am a "real person."

Well, apparently, I am hardly a real person because it took me several tries.

2006-03-06T11:46:00.000-08:00

So last night was Oscar night.

From my observations I've ascertained that only one thing was hotter than nude-colored dresses (or buff or cream or oyster or honeysuckle or whatever you want to call it): being completely insane.

Exhibit A: Lauren Bacall. I don't care if she's 432-years-old. She was crazy last night. Or having a stroke. Or something.

Exhibit B: The team that won for March of the Penguins. Great movie. Seriously demented people. There must be some rule in the Oscar handbook that bans the toting of plushies onstage for an acceptance speech. If not, I'm sure there's one now.

Exhibit C: Charlize Theron. Jac said it looked like she had a penguin on her shoulder. What the fuck was that? I'm sure whoever was sitting behind her was pissed between the up-do and the fashion-don't.

Exhibits D & E: Diana Ossana and Larry McMurtry (Adapted Screenplay - Brokeback Mountain). Why was she audibly sighing during her speech? I was waiting for her to say, "Fuck it, man. This shit is boooooring." And he looked like one of those picture books you played with as a kid when you could mix and match heads, torsos, and legs from different people. Someone mixed maitre d' with cowboy and it wasn't even remotely funny.

So there. That's my Oscar recap.

That would be a really good reason!

2006-03-03T11:45:00.000-08:00

The truth is that I've just been preoccupied. Not busy, just preoccupied. Sometimes I just need to prioritize and sometimes things like school, the Olympics, and blue raspberry snow cones (not necessarily in that order) come before blogging.

It's worth talking about, though. It's weird how something so public can suddenly feel so private. I imagine this is what it would feel like to have your porn discovered by your parents. Minus the naked men. I think. (Kate, have there ever been any naked men in my blog?) It's an almost unfounded feeling, though, because it's not like it was stashed in a drawer or under the mattress or some other ingenious hiding place. People, we're talking about the Internet here. The World. Wide. Web. It's world-wide! I'd have had a better shot at privacy wearing my daily thoughts on a sandwich board and walking around Times Square (mostly because people would inevitably think I was just advertising MEN'S SUITS!!!! 75% OFF!!!! BUY NOW!!!).

But then I wouldn't be heard. I don't know why we feel like we need to be heard. Those of us who blog, we just need to be heard. Why? We want people to read our thoughts and ideas and opinions and anecdotes and daily bullshit and we want feedback or validation or something. Oh, and we want hits! Hits and links! "How many hits did you get last week?" "Did you see who linked to me yesterday?" More links equals more hits equals more readers equals more validation. It's funny then, isn't it, when we get that one reader we weren't expecting? How could anyone be unexpected (see: World Wide Web)?

I suppose I don't really fall into the category of a "blogger" anymore, because, well, that would entail actually keeping up with this thing. Those of you who have been along for the long haul know that I have a habit of just letting these fall into desuetude. In the past, when I've stopped writing, it was mostly because I no longer needed the validation. Maybe that's a little sad or pathetic, but it's true.

Since I've been with Jac my need for this validation has been next to null. He fills what used to be a big, ugly, gaping void the size of Lake Superior (it's the largest of the Great Lakes, you know). So maybe now I don't need to put so much weight on this thing and use it simply to share my thoughts with the friends that I don't talk to very often (yeah, that would be all of you...).

I've got to be honest, though. Snow Cone season has only just started out here and Jac doesn't know how to work the ice shaver, which puts me on ice-shaving double duty. If it comes down to posting here or making another blue raspberry snow cone then you won't be hearing from me. A boy has to have priorities.

Nancy is right.

2006-02-08T09:47:00.000-08:00

On two accounts, really. One, that it is my birthday. And two, that I haven't written in a long while. I could give the tired excuse of being busy (which is legitimate, really), but I won't.

I will, however, share a quote with you that fell from J's lips this morning after I'd opened up my shiny, new belgium waffle maker and we were flipping through the accompanying catalog.

I wouldn't buy an espresso machine with a coffee maker attached. I don't buy connected appliances. If one breaks then it's just like having a dead baby twin stuck to your head.

Just stopping in

2006-01-11T08:19:00.000-08:00

to let you know that I'm out of town.

I'm coming to you now live from Brooklyn (via Connie's laptop). I arrived here yesterday from my hometown in Massachusetts. I'm leaving Brooklyn tonight to stay with J at the lovely home of a couple of friends just outside of the city. Then, I'll be back in San Francisco on Monday.

I must go now though, because I have to calculate the logistics of trapsing through the city with a nine thousand pound piece of luggage.

Be back soon!

Well then.

2005-12-30T08:51:00.000-08:00

I wrote a whole Christmas entry yesterday complete with photos and everything. That entry (thanks to my own endless supply of stupidity) will never be seen. Maybe I will get around to repeating myself later.

I'm pretty sure most of my friends hate me right now. I currently have 20 voicemails and I've yet to listen , much less respond, to a single one of them. Actually, I'm pretty sure my friends don't hate me because this is pretty common for me. I'm enjoying this quiet time terribly. I've left the house once since Christmas. I plan to go out for a bit this afternoon but just to get a few things necessary to finish up a couple of late Christmas gifts.

I'm going home for a few days in one week exactly. I'd love to say that it will be nice to get out of this city for a bit, but that would be a lie. I really like it here. I've yet to have that feeling of containment. Fortunately, I'm meeting J in New York after my stay at home.

Ugh, before I know it I'll be back in class.

Here's the real sad Christmas truth:

2005-12-25T07:16:00.000-08:00

It's 7:17am and I've been up for almost exactly one hour. I want to run into the bedroom, jump onto the bed and shout "It's Christmas! It's Christmas! Santa came!" but I don't think sleeping boyfriend would like it. I hope this abolishes any thoughts of my dark Christmas spirit.

We had a very nice Christmas Eve. I spent $9.99 on a CD from iTunes just so I could buy Kelly Clarkson's O Holy Night. We made candy (buckeyes --apparently a midwestern thing because I'd never heard of them. I made one shaped like a penguin and named him Quigly the Peanut Butter Christmas Penguin). We also made an apple pie and a cherry pie. Then we watched The Phantom of the Opera (at my urging), Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events (at J's urging), and Spanglish.

And now it's 7:25 and not really much later than it was when I sat down here. I don't think I've had this much excitement about Christmas since I was a kid. This is our very first Christmas together and I hope that we have many more just like this one. It really has been perfect.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and have a very nice day!

People.

2005-12-21T10:22:00.000-08:00

Christmas is like 12 seconds away. Those of you expecting Christmas cards from me, well, don't. Here's the sad Christmas truth: After making a total of 70 hand-cut, hand-made, hand-embossed (and one hand-feathered --don't ask) cards I couldn't give two shits less about my friends and their lack of Christmas cardage.

Actually, that's a lie. I sent four cards. Four of them. One to each person from which I'd already received a card. And one to Kate, because she's special and lives in Canada and sometimes I forget which countries celebrate which holidays and I was afraid she might miss Christmas if I didn't remind her with a Christmas card. Also, just for the record, they were leftover cards from J's set last year. Because that's just how over Christmas cards I am right now.

Last night J called me a scrooge after I told him that I had the nearly uncontrollable urge to be unnecessarily rude to the entire staff at The Container Store just because they were all so fucking filled with holiday cheer.

I still love Christmas. I promise.

I am done, done, and done.

2005-12-16T10:42:00.000-08:00

School is through and I can't help but think I've managed at least three A's. I'm pretty sure I got a B in Art History through the 15th century, but that is fine.

Now, one might think that it would be time to relax or do some holiday shopping or maybe even clean this slovenly hole that we usually call a home, but no. No, not so much. This is because, as I've said before, I seem to have a combination of rotten bananas and refried beans inside my head where a brain should be and actually thought it a good idea to agree to make a still undetermined number of rather stylish hand-cut, hand-made Christmas cards for a friend. Oh, and he'd love it if they could be FedEx'd today. This would not be such a hassle if, oh, I don't know, I was getting paid or something.

I will now show you my final photography assignment (which was not my final. That was a photo essay bound into a book that I was very pleased with, but have no desire to upload). I bit the bullet and did a self portrait. It's not great, but I'm pleased with it. It's very me, I think.

Almost in the clear.

2005-12-15T16:24:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is my last day of class. I just submitted my art history paper online and, believe you me, it feels great to have that big, ugly, Romanesque Vs. Gothic monkey off of my back. Now I just have to take one last photo for photography.

In light of this sudden and recent slowing down of all things academic, I've found the time to go back to my every day To Do list and see what's left to be done before Christmas. Upon opening up the file (I keep my To Do list in a Notepad document on my desktop) I found this rather cryptic item:

Buy that one last thing for J (You know, that thing)

Needless to say, I haven't the slightest clue what that thing is.

I don't have the time for java or joy.

2005-12-04T09:07:00.000-08:00

Two more weeks of school left and I have roughly four million things to do, including but not limited to making and binding three books, designing and comping a shopping bag, shooting a photo essay, laying out an article about Orlando Bloom (I never thought I'd tire of looking at his pretty face), writing an art history paper, and throwing J an enjoyable birthday party (which will include handmade mini pizzas to each guest's liking, an orange orange cake, an alternate, more palatable dessert, and a very fancy card made by moi).

Also, I'm getting fat because I've eaten nothing but toast and Haribo Gummy Bears for a week.

I accidentally got drunk

2005-11-29T21:25:00.000-08:00

during my lunch break from class today. That was pretty cool up until I had to go back to class and cut straight lines with my Xacto knife.

In other news, J's birthday is about a week away and I haven't really decided what I'm doing about that. I know for sure we're have some people over for a Make Your Own Pizza party. Also, he's requested a birthday cake that his mother used to make him when he was very little. It's an orange cake. With orange filling. And orange frosting.

Hi.

Now,I know you think this cake sounds disgusting, but I'm here to tell you that you can't even begin to imagine how disgusting it is. I know because I made a test cake last week. He thought it was wonderful though, so I'm going to have to make him another one because it's his birthday and I'm, like, supposed to do what he wants or something. Naturally, I will have to make a different, more palatable dessert for myself and our guests.

Also also, I've decided that it would be stupid for me not to use far too much food coloring and make the cake, filling, and frosting garishly orange.

I'm almost always out of the loop.

2005-11-27T10:41:00.000-08:00

Like, way out of the loop. For those of you who might find yourself in the same place I submit that Fiona Apple's new (if you consider nearly two months old "new") album is a must.

Thanksgiving is gone,

2005-11-26T17:29:00.000-08:00

much unlike the turkey carcass sitting in my refrigerator. I'm pretty sure that we've cut all of the meat off of it, but J is not. I'm basically just waiting to walk in on him with the thing clutched in both hands, teeth to the bone. He can be like that sometimes.

This was actually the first Thanksgiving for which I cooked a real turkey. Last year (my first year cooking for the whole holiday by myself) I cooked a breast only. That was, in and of itself, an experience involving tears, dry heaves, and an email addressed to Mother containing a photo of the raw, dead bird.

This year I cooked a "young turkey." It looked very much like an old turkey (I suppose), but much smaller. I thought I was going to be okay, but started to tear up the moment I tore open the plastic. And then the tears started to fall. And then I went into the ugly cry. And then I whipped around from the kitchen sink, look at J from across the room and shouted Why am I crying? He came over to hug me and then I whimpered He was only a young turkey! Just a young turkey! and cried some more.

And then I got over it and we ate him.

It's Thanksgiving, people.

2005-11-24T09:44:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving.

Also, Whitney Houston is a crazy bitch.

2005-11-23T11:22:00.000-08:00

That's all.

J's birthday and Christmas are dangerously close to each other.

2005-11-23T11:13:00.000-08:00

I know that people with birthday's close to Christmas generally dislike combining the days. He knows that I'm po'. Last night he told me that all he wants for his birthday is for me to take a self portrait. This is not going to happen for two reason: a) I've already purchased his birthday present and b) I have a better chance of taking a photograph of Big Foot, The Loch Ness Monster and a sober, respectably dressed Tara Reid having tea together than I have of taking a good photograph of myself.